The Beginning
by Kisses on the Steps
Summary: Newly-wed Marguerite and brother Armand, arrive at Blakeney Manor and find her past actions have come full round and landed her in an estrangement with Percy, a bad relationship with her maids, and running Blakeney Manor by herself. All she wants to do is go back to Paris with her beloved brother when he leaves. Meanwhile, Armand and Percy get caught up with the League in France.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Her slumber concluded abruptly as Armand jerked and almost fell halfway out the carriage window. She stretched and groaned," What really is so interesting out there?" Sitting up she glanced out the window and sharply in took breath at the new sight entering her vision. A colossal mansion reflected off the pool in front with captivating and picturesque illusions of stars. A scene like that would take the breath out of any passerby. "Is that mine?"

Armand turned and beamed, "How does it feel sister, to be married to the richest man in England?"

"I don't know what to say," she answered, still refusing to part with her gaze on the ever approaching manor. The front drive was surrounded by well-trimmed bushes and flowers from what Marguerite could see through the darkness. All the lights in Blakeney Manor brilliantly illuminated every room in the house, showing off the grand display of chandeliers, fine curtains and plush furniture to show off to the new lady of the house.

"They must have gotten my message that I was coming," she whispered to her brother. A half a dozen men were already waiting outside to attend to the weary travelers. Marguerite tried to strain to see a familiar figure in vain as not one silhouette massively dominated over the others. The nervous, giddy feelings she felt on leaving her brother's house to finally join Percy at Blakeney Manor all came back terribly fast at his absence upon her arrival. The regrets of their fight and the things she said to him, her passionate lover, probably pained her almost as much as it did him. She was ready to fall into his arms and plead for forgiveness, and then he would show her how much he loved her through kind words of reconciliation and passionate kisses. She wanted someone to love her like Percy had during their courtship.

"Lady Blakeney?" Marguerite glanced down at the courtier reaching for her hand and took it, imagining it was Percy Blakeney, the most dashing, charming, and handsome gentleman she had ever met. She smiled, seeing his droopy eyes that would often blaze with passion, and stepped down from the carriage, watching the light shine onto his blessed face, outlining his carved jaw line and prominent cheekbones, wanting to kiss the roundness in his cheeks whenever he smiled. When the servant tugged his hand away, the illusion ended and she was left, dazed from the lack of Percy's presence that this house bore.

"Don't worry Marguerite," Armand assured, "Sir Percy has to be waiting inside. Do you think he would ever be caught participating in physical labor?"

"He hunts during the seasons," Marguerite defended. Percy may be somewhat lazy, but she didn't like Armand making fun of him, even though he was never offended by such comments. "He is surely mad at me Armand. His not coming to greet us is a sure sign of his grudge."

"Do not assume that of Percy. I know he loves you."

"He still has the right to be bitter."

"Let us go in and see. If he is indignant, humble yourself and he will forgive you. Sir Percy-"

"Lady Blakeney!" Both turned and beheld a middle aged woman in plain clothing. Marguerite would have thought her comely, in exception of the scowl on her face. "I am your personal maid, and have stayed up waiting for you to arrive."

"What about Sir Percy?"

The woman scoffed, "Your husband is gone, and will not be back for who knows how long." Marguerite was tempted to climb back into the carriage with Armand and travel back to Paris.

"Percy isn't here." She turned to Armand and whimpered.

"Marguerite, you're strong. Percy won't be gone long. Besides, you'll be with me. If he doesn't arrive in the next few days, we'll sit down and have a talk about how to treat my little maman," he whispered with a smile. "Go. We'll survive without him for a few more days. Like we did in Paris."

"I don't know what I would do without you my little Papa." She took his hand and climbed up the steps together. "I thought you were tired maid? Aren't you coming," Marguerite asked with a quizzical brow to the irritable woman, now eye level to her. The maid scowled even more and humphed as they waited for her. She sped to the house, leaving behind the siblings in the dust.

"If we are to survive in this land of luxury, we must hurry on," Armand laughed and helped quicken her pace with a rhythmic beat to their synchronized footfalls. They had been practicing this art since they were little orphans in the streets. Soon enough, they were a few feet behind her disgruntled maid.

"This," she sighed, "is Blakeney Manor," and opened the grand oak doors. Any praises Marguerite might have exclaimed to Armand were suppressed by the feeling of discomfort caused by her grumpy maid. "Tours will be held in the morning," she explained as she guided Marguerite away to her rooms and left Armand waiting for a butler to take him to his. "Your rooms. Four in all. Come inside and I will help you get undressed." Every word was said with impatience and vehemence, giving Marguerite an uncomfortable feeling that she was to dress and undress her every night.

"I am not in anything too hard to get out of tonight. Just go to bed."

"Very well mistress."

"Wait, you know my name, yet I not yours."

"Dorothea." The woman slightly bowed and molded into the dark shadows of that side of the house.

They were beautiful rooms, though empty of anything she really cared about, namely Percy, who could have filled that side of the empty bed that was covered in moonlight, if only he would come back.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Despite her weariness from the journey from Paris to Richmond, Marguerite found herself quite unable to sleep in the feather-bed that was heavenly soft from the silky satin bedsheets. Her dingy, thin nightgown felt quite inadequate compared to everything surrounding her, and she had to pull out her quilt from Paris to make herself feel more at home. It was the only thing that felt warm in the whole entire household, and she was distracted for the longest time as to why that was. The house servants, mostly Dorothea, glared at her when she had passed by them, and she could not help but duck her head and blush, even though she had no idea why they hated her so. It was an unpleasant thing; to be hated by others-surly a new experience, since everyone in France worshiped her for her acting skills.

As she gazed up at the ceiling for most of the night, homesickness overcame her for Paris, where she had friends on every street. England was wholly alien to her. Not one friend lived here, and soon Armand would leave her to return. Then she would be truly alone. Sometime during dawn's first light, she finally was overcome with fatigue and put aside her dilemma. It seemed that the moment she closed her eyes, Dorothea spread wide the curtains, revealing early morning sunlight.

"Good morning Lady Blakeney, I trust you slept well," Dorothea chirped cheerfully. Marguerite groaned and pulled her quilt over her eyes. She wondered if this was the same servant that greeted her last night. Her maid went on saying how lovely the garden looked at his time in the morning, and how breakfast was still being prepared, but she needed to guide the household in how to prepare for Sir Percy.

At first, Marguerite had ignored her maid's rambling until her husband's sweet name left her lips. Marguerite jumped out of the bed and threw the blanket on the floor. "Sir Percy is coming? When will he arrive?"

"Nothing is clear at the moment. We received a note-"

"Where is this note?"Marguerite had no desire to plead Dorothea for further information.

"Here, Lady Blakeney," Dorothea smirked and handed it to her. There were a few moments of silence as Marguerite read the note and then pocketed it. _Percy is coming. Percy is coming._ Her mind droned, blocking all other coherent thoughts.

"What do I do in preparation?" She asked dully, and then wanted to slap herself when a smug look crossed Dorothea's eyes and lips.

"As _lady _of the household," Dorothea began slowly, as if she were a speaking to a child (a stupid child), "you must make sure the house is in order, a hearty meal is planned and his rooms are warmed with a fire. There are a dozen other things to do, but I'm sure Frank will take care of them, if you cannot-"

"If Percy is a day's ride away, I must speak with the heads of the household, including this 'Frank.' After breakfast, bring them to me. Now, help me dress." Her maid obediently turned away and started to help Marguerite prepare for the day. She smiled at the submissive acquiescence her quick-tongued servant showed at the order. She could enjoy directing the servants to do her bidding if they all listened to her like that.

After a full morning of meeting with the heads of the house, she was ready to collapse. A servant named Frank noticed her fatigue and guided her to her brother, who had waited patiently all day to explore the gardens with her.

Armand stood up from the bench and embraced his swooning sister. "Thank you...?"

"Oh, Frank sir, Sir Percy's personal valet."

"Then you must now when your master is going to arrive, correct?"

"Yes, Sir Percy is an excellent horseman. He will most likely get back tonight, earlier than he said," Frank's eyes shifted to the ground, as if he was hiding something.

"Good, I will take Lady Blakeney to her bedroom now. Her journey must have sapped her strength."

"She has never been to England before, I am correct in saying that? The Channel can be rough. I've crossed it many a time with the Master." Frank then winced as if he had been slapped, and turned away.

"Yes, that must be it. Thank you again, for your attentiveness to my sister." Armand added, only somewhat confused. Frank bowed and walked back to the house. Marguerite leaned on her brother as he helped her to locate her room again.

"Thank you, brother," she mumbled as he arranged her bedding to make her more comfortable and then was instantly asleep. Armand smiled warmly as he watched and then kissed her brow before retreating out of the room.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

"Maman, we're going to die, aren't we?" Annette asked. Her mother looked down at her oldest child and trembled with the hardest smile she had ever conjured. At only 7 years old, Annette D'Augne could not be lied to. A lie wouldn't help either, not in their situation. Madam D'Augne couldn't answer for a few moments, almost told her the horrible truth-their names were called out to be tried the next day. Within two days, they would both be dead.

"Not if I have anything to do with it," someone whispered outside their cell. Annette scurried to the door to see who it was as they unlocked and opened it. Annette was suddenly hidden as the figure swept her up into his arms. "Madame D'Augne, come we are here to save you." He handed her a paper with a red flower drawn on with red chalk and followed the man, who, in better light, she could see wore a soldier's dirty uniform. A moment of panic made her stop until she realized she was safe with a surety from the paper in her hand.

The soldier guided them through dark and dank passages in the prison maze. Madam D'Augne forlornly looked at the others she passed who were still trapped in their prisons, and felt how lucky she was to take the Scarlet Pimpernel's notice. Only once did another soldier pass by, and he only nodded to her rescuer and passed on. A door was left ajar, and the prisoners saw their first natural light in weeks. It first blinded Madam D'Augne and then she welcomed it, even though the air was not much less pungent outside than inside the prison. Annette was doing the same; she could hear her child's deep breaths in pleasure.

The man stopped by a cart hidden in the shadows. He handed Annette to the driver, a striking blonde-haired man with bright blue eyes. He wore plain clothes, but his air made her feel as if he was noble. He helped Madam D'Augne next to him on the driver's seat as Annette climbed into the back, where another child, a boy, played in the straw.

"Good work Hastings," the driver praised. "The plans for the rescue of Comte De Moncey goes unchanged." Then, the driver abruptly willed the horses to start down the cobblestone road.

Madam D'Augne stared in shock at the driver before saying,"You're him! Oh Dieu, thank you Monsieur-"

"Do not thank me yet Madam," he whispered,"Your performance at the gate will determine the fate of all of us. Here is a rag to remove some of the filth off." He handed her a ragged piece of cloth. She first wiped off her face, but could not get everything. "Do not bother," he advised,"No one is perfectly clean in Paris these days." She handed the rag to her daughter, who smiled at the possible idea of being cleansed again. The little boy scoffed at her efforts.

"Who is the boy?"

"An orphan I took pity on," he turned and looked back at the boy. "Both his parents perished from Madam la Guillotine two weeks ago."

"He is not a noble?"

"No, they were simple people. Someone wanted revenge on them for some matter, and betrayed them." The Pimpernel looked back at her with sorrow,"I hope you do not think I am trying to replace him with your son, but I hope that in England you will take him in."

Bitter tears stung Madam D'Augne's eyes, "I could not be angry with you, for saving Annette, even though you could not do the same for my husband and two boys.

"If I could have everything my way Madam, I would save everyone from the guillotine." Madam D'Augne smiled at him and then drew a quick breath. The city's west gate was visible, only a hundred yards away. "Do not panic Madam D'Augne. They will judge you by fear. Why fear if you do not have a reason to? I will protect you Madam. There is nothing to fear." He took her hand and squeezed it. Instead of giving in to the trembling quaking inside her, she pushed it down to the depths of her and tried to appear confident. The soldier at the gate scrutinized them from the moment he saw them.

"Papers?"

"Here captain," he bent to give away the fake passports. There were a few seconds of unnerved silence as he read the papers that could save her and Annette.

"Citizen Ramboyeane and his wife?"

"Yes captain, and our two children in the back. They are mentioned as well."

The grimy soldier shuffled through the packet until he found the information. "Ahh, Annette and Pierre." Both children popped their heads over the back at the mention of their names. He nodded toward them and then turned back to her and the Pimpernel. "What is your business for leaving town?"

"We live outside of Paris, and are farmers. We have sold all our produce today and have to go home to prepare for tomorrow."

"It is early in the day to be sold out already, wouldn't you say?"

"We do the best we can," the pimpernel put on a look as if his pride had been insulted. "We don't have much captain."

"I had no intention to offend citizen. Asking questions is my job. You may pass."

"Captain," the Pimpernel slightly bowed his head and took the papers back. The cart started up again, as did the beating of her heart. Within a few seconds, Madam D'Augne and her only living child were safe outside the imprisoned city.


	4. Chapter 4

The Scarlet Pimpernel looked up to the heavens in delight as it thundered all it's rain and hail upon him. Sure, it made for a nasty cold, but was enough to stop his pursuers from gaining more ground. He let a wild laugh escape him at the adrenaline thrill of it all. The little girl in front of him shifted at the curious sound he made. One could only think he was half-mad, and maybe he was. After all, he knowingly risked his life for sport, time and again. His men couldn't comprehend his mindset totally. Not even his second-in-command, Andrew Foulkes, who was the closest to him of all, could see his leader's reasoning behind their mad adventures. The valiant leader had planned the most risky, daring escapes for the past two weeks. None had failed, but they were all worried for his sake, and that of his new wife, who no doubt stayed up night and day thinking about him. Percy always shook them off with his inane laugh, but never gave a reason why he was not with Marguerite.

The light of the rendezvous beckoned to both riders on the horse, promising warmth and substance. Within a few minutes, Percy stopped the horse in front of the small shack. After they were hushed in by the weary family and Foulkes himself, the shutters were closed, making it almost impossible to tell if there even was a house on the side of the road, due to the darkness the storm had created. Annette shivered at the table as she gulped down her soup, some of the first appetizing food she had since she entered the Paris prison. Percy sat by the fire with Foulkes, talking quietly.

"Madam D'Augne and Pierre are almost to Boulogne. The Daydream is waiting?"

"Yes, Foulkes, their rescue should be easy compared to little Annette here. It was a pity we had to split. Those demmed frog-eaters wouldn't give up the chase, would they?"

"I cannot believe you could say such a thing, sir," Foulkes smiled somberly,"seeing that your own wife hails from this country."

"Her loyalties still lie with her country as well," Percy murmured as he gazed into the fire.

"What do you mean?" Andrew asked curiously. Percy raised his head and met his eyes with a melancholy expression.

"She betrayed the St. Cyr family, Foulkes. They," he paused and sighed, "They are all dead now, and because of her." Percy put his head in his hands in an affecting manner, making Foulkes' feel for Percy's heartrending emotions.

"So she does not know that you are...?"

"How could I," Percy moaned. The were both silent for a time, listening to the slurps of Annette at the table. Percy finally finished the story. "We had a horrible quarrel Andrew! She... insulted me so grossly that I can't stand to think of reconciliation, not now, when there are such high stakes."

"Percy, I don't think-"

"And I fought back too Andrew. How horrible I was to her! But I didn't even know the woman anymore. She... was not who I believed her to be. There is a whole family's blood on her hands, and all she does is scoff at me and give no answer," Percy stood and leaned on the mantle, speaking as fiercely as he could within a whisper. "I would have accepted a lie Andrew, but she refused me even that, and now I am forced to believe the rumors."

"Is that why you haven't returned to Richmond-because she is there?"

"Afterwards, Andrew, she left me for Armand. I have not seen her since then." Andrew gaped at him with an inquisitive glance at his obstinate, strong-willed friend. He had learned many a-time of Percy's trait, and was only reminded of it further in these extreme situations. "I don't even know if she is at Richmond."

"Is there anything I can do...?"

"No, Andrew. I will handle the situation." Percy smiled plaintively and turned to Annette at the table. "Well Mademoiselle D'Augne, I think it is time for you to rest. Monsieur Garcon will see you to your needs." The room was clear of everyone else, and Percy leaned over to Andrew with a whisper, "I am back to Paris. See to it that Annette gets back to her mother. It will happen as long as you follow my directions."

"Percy, I will go to Paris for you. Go back to England."

"Foulkes, this really isn't the time to-"

"I'm not, Percy, go home and rest. Come back when you are well-rested."

"What waits for me there, Andrew? An empty household mocking me?"

"Send for her Percy! It is her pride that keeps her away."

"Then it is mine that devoids me from calling for her."

"Then think of your image. Surely England misses her dandy, Sir Percy?" Andrew urged with a smile,"They will suspect if you're absent as much as you are now." Percy faltered and with some concern evident on his face, he turned and thought on it.

"Sir Percy Blakeney Bart," he drawled and followed by his inane laugh, continued, "is my most full-proof disguise Andrew."

"Then test it out on the one who has the best chance of seeing through it! And if you succeed, you will have the assurance that you will be safe from any French spy who snivels around in London." There was a smile on Percy's face as he contemplated.

"Very good plan Foulkes. I might just take on that challenge. Your wish is granted-Moncey's rescue is now up to you. I will reunite Annette and her mother, then."


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Marguerite woke up sometime that night, to the sound of voices outside her door, which was cracked open. She groggily sat up and listened to the conversation of hushed, arguing voices.

"I only assumed milord-"

"Do not assume anymore Dorothea! Not when it comes to _her_." Through her sleepy mind, she was able to discern her husband's voice, _Percy_, she realized. "This has put me in an awkward position Dorothea! What will I say?"

"Hush, Sir Percy, I hear the Lady stirring." Marguerite crept out of the bed and silently made her way to the door,Then, the light widened in the room as Percy opened the door with a candle in hand.

"Hello, m'dear," he eyed her up and down disconcertingly. "you may go back to sleep."

"But I have been asleep for hours! How can I rest more than I have already?" Marguerite pouted, trying to see through this mood of his. Perhaps it was the fatigue of traveling and he wasn't himself.

"If you won't, I will," he then went into the room himself and stared at her icily. She drew away from that look and figured her fears were true. She knew she shouldn't have gone away. She was so angry at the time that it stimulated her to leave him, to show him just what he was missing when he spoke to her that way, but as soon as Armand received her at his home, she regretted it. She would like to have appealed to Percy as soon as she realized what would happen. And now it HAD happened. He shut the door on her and the light in the hallway was gone. Shadows were cast darkly on all the objects surrounding her. Dorothea had disappeared as quickly as Percy had, and Marguerite wished to seek her out, but... only after supper.

Percy shut the door and cringed at the sound it made-the sound of his heart closing a barrier, separating his own from Marguerite's, but then, Percy wasn't even sure she had a heart, much less loved him in return. He thought he knew when he saw a gold-digger, and Marguerite didn't seem like that type of person when he met her. Now, he questioned her actions for marrying him. He desperately wanted to believe it was out of the slightest bit of infatuation, not even love, that she accepted. She never was impressed by his jeweled gifts meant to swoon her, but she was an actress after all, and the best one at that.

Andrew's suggestion to play the fop with her privately would be one of his hardest tasks as the Scarlet Pimpernel. When he had just now seen a small glimpse of her at his tired state, he wanted to forget everything, but thank goodness for his unbendable pride, which could not forgive her words or actions. He could not pretend to be the idiot with her until he had a good night's rest. He walked to his dressing room and found Marguerite's clothes hanging next to his. He nearly broke down then, and flinched when he reached for his nightclothes and touched silky fabric of a sleeve of one of her dresses. It was _the_ dress, one he remembered quite well, and had memorized what it looked like on her, as she walked down the aisle to take his hand, where she swore to be with him forever. He remembered the way it had slipped off her shoulders that night, when he knew her for the first time. Percy shook off the thoughts of that one night; she had been Marguerite, the woman he would die for, do anything for, who was now gone. The woman out there was a stranger, someone he knew not, a murderess.

He took off his overcoat and other perspired items of clothing. He changed into his nightclothes, and slept, hoping the next time he would face Marguerite, he could be flippant enough to explain the mess-up with their bedroom situation.

"Could you tell me where my maid is?" Marguerite looked to Frank who had been the only kind one in the house to stop their tasks and help her. Every time she asked a servant that she passed, they glared or avoided her gaze and said quietly,"I don't know."

"Dorothea? Lady Blakeney, she just left the house."

"Where to?"

"Lady Blakeney, she isn't coming back."

"Did I offend her in any way?"

"No," he assured and patted her hand."Dorothea has her own reasons. Though, I don't know where she'll go, she has been here all her life."

"Will she be alright?"

"I'm sure she has some connections nearby, but it is no good to worry your mind over such matters, Lady Blakeney."

"Alright, thank you, Frank."

"A new maid is on her way, Mistress."

"Thank you. Make sure Sir Percy is properly taken care of," she administered.

"I can assure you, Lady Blakeney, I will never forget to watch over you husband." Marguerite glanced over at Frank, wondering if that comment was pointed at her, but Frank was looking off to another room.

"Of course Frank, I thank you again for the service you give to Percy." Marguerite could not help but believe that Dorothea left because of her. Now, there was nothing to do, her maid was gone, and there was no one to talk to, not one person she could confide in. "If you could, Frank, tell a servant to bring tea for me in the library."

"Of course Lady Blakeney," Frank bowed and left her in the hall. When Marguerite sat down on a comfortable lounge sofa, she nestled into the cushions with her Rousseau, but couldn't get into it like she usually would have. Her nap prevented her from further sleep, and she could not return to her rooms since Percy was there and resting. She did not want to disturb him or else face his wrath. She wouldn't disturb Armand out of respect for his sleep.

Then, she exercised her famous wit and put together some pieces of his mysterious puzzle. She didn't even know where Percy was while she was with Armand-at least she knew how he felt about it. Dorothea must have known something about Percy's feelings, because she held her in spite any time her husband was mentioned. Percy was hiding something as well, and she just couldn't figure it out. The whole time they had been courting, she felt the same way, and just assumed he would tell her when they were married.

Marguerite wished she could feel comfortable asking him such questions as his wife, but all intimate knowledge between man and wife dissipated because she left him, and did not send word of her whereabouts. His secrets, and hers as well, were let alone, never shared. How mad would he be, if he found out that it was because of a mere accident of her own, that a whole aristocratic family perished by the enticing blade of the guillotine.

He wouldn't understand.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

The next morning, Marguerite found herself cramped and uncomfortable on the sofa. In front of her was a blazing fire blowing warm waves of heat onto her uncovered body. She yawned and sat up, hearing the sounds of life from the distant kitchens. Hopefully breakfast would be ready soon; she was famished and hoped to see someone there. "Lady Blakeney?" Marguerite turned and flushed to see one of her servants standing at the door. She quickly wiped drooled-on hair out of her face and stood up, trying, and failing to smooth out the wrinkles in her dress. The young man cleared his throat and bashfully looked at the ground, "Sir Percy and Monsieur St. Just await you for breakfast."

"Thank you. Tell them I will be there in a few minutes." He left hastily, and Marguerite inspected herself in the mirror. Unfortunately, if she was to fix her hair, it would hold up the others for another hour, but managed to somewhat pull back her locks behind her ears. She would have to change out of her dress afterwards. There was nothing more she could do, especially without a maid. Hopefully, she would arrive today. As she made her way to Percy and Armand, Marguerite found herself disoriented and almost lost her way to the dining hall. After passing by a somewhat familiar room, she heard a shout of inane laughter. She recognized this as her husband's signature. Marguerite's heartbeat doubled at the sound of it, mostly out of uneasiness. How would he receive her today? Sighing, she pushed open the oak door and stiffly marched to the table. Percy, who she tried hard not to stare at, sat at the head, with Armand to the right, and a plate to his left filled up with delicious smelling sausages and porridge. They both stood up , and Percy pulled out the chair for her. She winced at Armand and Percy's dress, far more fine looking than she was at the moment. A real mistress of the house would never be caught sleeping in the library. She would have to do better.

Percy raised his eyeglass and looked her up and down critically. "Zounds, m'dear! We will have to take you out shopping in London before I can show you off to society." He laughed, making Marguerite's cheeks blush even more.

"I actually-"

"Of course Armand, you can come to, if you'd like. Might do well for you too," Percy cut in. Armand, fought a smile, trying not to be offended.

"Thank you Percy. Though, I do have to leave in a week." Percy tapped his eyeglass to his chin and did not reply.

"Oh Armand, don't leave me here!" Marguerite cringed at the way she worded that pleading. She glanced at Percy, only to find him yawning melodramatically. She reached out across the table to her brother, and took his hand. "I will miss you so very much." A pair of droopy eyes perused the exchange with disguised jealousy; the owner averting quickly back to his plate.

"Marguerite, I'm sorry. Percy is here with you. I'm sure you will forget about me in a month or so." Marguerite frowned and spooned porridge into her mouth. There was silence for a few minutes until Marguerite could not stand it any longer.

"Percy?"

"At your service." His quizzical eyebrow raised in question, a good-humored smile rooted on his face.

"I was only curious as to whom my new maidservant will be."

"T'will be a woman from your native land. Her name is Louise. She has a son as well. If you do not mind."

"Of course not. Where from France is she from?"

"Gad! How could I know that! Such a confusing country you came from."

"So you just picked up a woman and her child off some road in France without any knowledge of her past?"

Percy guffawed, "Of course not. That would be stupid! Why would I want to go to France with that demmed revolution going on?" He took another bite, "No, I picked them off the side of the road in Dover! They had just escaped Paris and had no where to go."

"I guess that is slightly better," Marguerite murmured.

"How convenient that I met them when I did! They will be here this afternoon."

"What are they like?"

"Odds fish! They are like any other demmed person," he said plainly. Marguerite sighed and ate a bite of sausage.

"No, I mean-"

"Armand, what say you? Shall we go out hunting for a day or two while Marguerite's in London?" She glared at Percy for the first time with contempt. How could she get a word out with him interrupting her all the time? _May be that was the point_, a voice chided in her head.

"Well, I would accept this invitation, but Marguerite-"

"Don't upset your plans in account for me," Marguerite replied sarcastically, "I couldn't imagine getting in the way of your sport."

"Lud love, how mindful you are," he rubbed his eyeglass on his sleeve to clean it, while speaking in an icy tone, the same he used the night before. "We would not want to get in the way of your fashion."

"How could you get in the way of MY fashion sir, when it is you who requires me to go to London for it?" Percy gazed at her from under his half-closed lids, and then burst out laughing. Marguerite cleared her throat and spooned out another portion of her gruel, and could not help but smirk. She had vague memories of her apartment in Rue Richelieu come back to her, where they would laugh at any witty comment she made. She had to bite her tongue so she would not make fun of Percy any longer. The poor idiot could not help if he was totally ignorant of her feelings, with no mother to take care of him.

"Indeed you are correct m'dear," Percy drawled, "I am the most fashionable man in England society. No one, not even you, could interrupt my way of life."

"What an interesting pursuit, sir. I ne'er met one man with such a tenacious, noble desire," Marguerite scoffed.

"Quite more noble, Lady Blakeney, than _your_ desires and pursuits." Percy glared at her with eyes that bore into her soul. Marguerite met his stare with one comparable to his own.

"Excuse me Armand," she said to her brother without glancing at him. She stood, and swept out of the room.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

"Goodbye, Sir Percy, " Marguerite reached her hand out grudgingly, not even wanting him to touch her anymore. He gallantly bent and kissed her hand ceremoniously.

"Lady Blakeney," Sir Percy said quietly. When he stood straight, he walked with her to the carriage. She glanced back at the house, hoping to see Armand run out one last time to say adieu, but no one came. "Oh,' Percy added, "your new maid will join you in London. Have a swell time m'dear." Then he helped her up and closed the door. When Percy stepped away, she was tempted to say something kind, but out of her humiliation earlier, she watched her hands as the coach pulled away, and only looked up at the last moment, catching a look of longing clearly evident on her husband's face. She peered at him for a moment, but as soon as it came, he replaced it with his humorous smile, mocking her. Then, he was lost from view. She sighed and collapsed against the cushions, her mind muddled in confusion.

The sky was gray as usual, and Marguerite couldn't help but feel homesick as she dreamed of the sun beating down on her in the crowded streets of Paris. At least I am alone, she thought. It would have been better if Armand had accompanied her, but then Percy would have to come, and she couldn't bear to talk to him for another moment. No, it was better for her if she could somehow get used to Armand's absence. This trip could help clear her thoughts. Maybe his separation from Blakeney Manor would help her to be more tolerable of the servants and her husband.

After another hour of looking at the drab landscape, she caught sight of London, a city even bigger than Paris. It unnerved her a little to be alone at entering it for the first time, but reminded herself of the bravery she had under the age of twenty upon becoming a famous Parisian actress, with only a brother at her side. She was now older, and convinced her mind she didn't need him to look after her. There was no need for that. She was a rich, English _lady_, married to the intimate friend of the future king of England! Did she need a companion?

She stepped out of the carriage without the hand offered to her. Passersby stopped to see the foreign spectacle arrive at Sir Percy's tailor. Marguerite didn't give them a sideways glance, but held her head high and proud like she witnessed the St. Cyr family do to her and Armand. A woman waited outside the door in plain clothes. Marguerite could distinctly tell she was french as well. She curtsied and bowed her head. Marguerite softened and inclined her head slightly. "Lady Blakeney," she whispered with awe in a strong french accent.

"_Soyez libre de me parler en français_."

"That is quite alright Lady Blakeney. I need to get used to the language." the servant smiled hesitantly.

"You are...Louise?"

"From Boulogne milady."

"Good, come inside and keep me company." Louise gaped, and Lady Blakeney smiled. Maidservants tended to stay in the corner, waiting to be needed, but Marguerite wanted to friendship Louise, a connection to home that would bring her joy and comfort. Louise curtsied again and followed her through the door, entering into a lavishly decorated entryway. Servants all bowed in unison as she stepped through the door. A middle-aged man, slightly stout and balding, stood next to a plain woman servant, who held a string.

"Lady Blakeney, " the man exclaimed and rushed to shower her hand in wet kisses, "Anthony Mewer, at your service."

"My pleasure Mr. Mewer." He did not cease to kiss her hand. "Shall we get started, Sir?" The man's head whipped up in delight. He beckoned the woman nest to him to come near.

"Come, Lady Blakeney. Let us see your form. Stand on that pedestal." Marguerite unsteadily obeyed, and stared at herself through the mirror as they scrutinized her shape, and measured her waist, bust, and hip length.

"Louise," Marguerite questioned her servant, who perked up from her watchful trance.

"Lady Blakeney?"

"How have you come to England?"

"Quite a unique story, milady," Louise answered timidly. Mewer glanced at them curiously, but kept at his work.

"Humor me," Marguerite smirked.

"It.. was through... the Scarlet Pimpernel, Lady Blakeney." Everyone in the room gasped and turned on her.

"Who," Marguerite scoffed at the ridiculous name, or whatever it was.

"Is the Lady ignorant of this hero?" Mewer looked incredulously at her.

"Why, Mr. Mewer. I have only been in England for a few days."

"Lady Blakeney," Louise explained, "The Scarlet Pimpernel is one of the bravest men I've ever met. He knew I was held in suspicion by the french government, and took me and Phillipe away."

"How did he do it?" All ears turned up for the story.

"Milady?" Louise looked to Marguerite for permission, who nodded, intrigued by this silhouette character


	8. Chapter 8

"He swept me off my feet into arms that were so strong, I was halfway to swooning," Louise described. They had moved to a sitting area, where Louise sat on the pedestal and everyone sat, engaged in listening to her story. Tailoring duties were forgotten for the moment, which Marguerite was more than grateful for.

"Ohh, he's so dreamy," the servant next to Mewer moaned.

"Was he handsome?" Marguerite was curious to know.

"Oh, yes mistress," Louise smirked, "I'm sure that if I saw him again I would surely recognize him."

"And have you?" They prodded, sitting on the edges of their seats. Louise slyly smiled but gave no answer. There were a series of shouts and pestering

"Tell us. Did you see him?" There was a chorus of questions, but to this one she answered.

"I cannot give away his identity my dears." There were so many protests that Marguerite could not hear herself think for quite a few minutes.

"What happened next?" Mewer finally cut in. He had grown tired of the conversation of the masculinity of the Scarlet Pimpernel.

"Well sir, he carried me out of Boulogne like I was his lover. He was brash and acted as a brute carrying his paid lady."

"What were his brash ways?" A servant giggled. Mewer glared at the girl, but she ignored him.

"He kissed me, right on the lips!" Louise exclaimed. "I assure you, that pulled it off completely and we were not at all questioned as we walked right out of the city!"

"Where was your son in all this?" Marguerite felt a little uncomfortable with this part of the story, however much the servant girls enjoyed it.

"My little son was already on the boat milady. His followers had already rescued him without suspicion from my apartment," Louise informed with awe. "They never explained how they did it, but as soon as we had left Boulogne on his beautiful ship, he set me down and... I never saw him again," Louise sighed with longing.

"How taken you all are with him," Marguerite commented. "Though I do not see the specialty of this 'Scarlet Pimpernel'."

"Lady Blakeney, how do you not see...?" Mewer shot a glare at his most outspoken maid.

"Forgive my servants. They are alike to all woman in this country. The Scarlet Pimpernel is the favorite in society because he has never failed. Every attempt has been successful."

"How does he do that?"

"Supernatural powers," Louise answered followed by giggles, "Really, most French believe he has some Satanic gifts. He is more of a mystery in France. Not one patriot says his name without a shudder."

"Why does he endanger his life so? Surely he knows he will be guillotined if he is caught."

"Of course he knows Lady Blakeney, it makes him so much more heroic."

"I'm sure it is all out of sport," remarked Mewer . Lady Blakeney suspected some little green monster had taken hold of his judgement. "His band of men are all young and daring. I am sure they do it out of the love of bothering those Frenchies, not to get the attention of young ladies."

"Nor the rest of England," Marguerite put in.

"Regardless of his intentions, the Pimpernel is my hero," Louise shut her eyes and sighed in sync with the other girls. Marguerite could not help but laugh at the women, more like girls than grownups. Still, this mysterious character intrigued her.

"How is it that no one knows his identity, though you have all this information about him?"

"Rumors, Lady Blakeney, or through what we hear of French refugees like Louise, thy maid."

"I was curious Louise, where is your Phillipe?" Marguerite would like to have left awhile before, but the subject of the Scarlet Pimpernel brought a conversation that had lasted for at least an hour, and they weren't even done with the dressing details.

"Oh, milady, he is upstairs, resting. You see, he was fairly ill when we left France." For the first time, Marguerite saw Louise's bright blue eyes darken. "I could not leave him at our inn. He must be up by now. "

"Go, Louise. If we could Mr. Mewer, Let us go back to our designs?" Mewer brightened and ordered his servant girls off to their proper places in the household. As, she studied his plans, Marguerite could not help but see that Mewer was artistically genius. He showed her styles that were not yet introduced. He proclaimed her to be his new "star"-Percy was his first and because of the many demands of the baronet, he had been able to start his business. Now, titles and nobility flocked to him for fashionable clothes introduced by the Blakeneys. Secretly, other tailors asked him for advice on styles and gave him a portion of their profits. He was so vilely rich now for a former merchant, that Mewer gave almost all his credit to Percy Blakeney. Mewer praised him for his attentiveness, and abundant support, something Marguerite saw her husband lack whenever he was around her lately. Marguerite could not help but feel some pride in Percy. Despite his foolishness, he was a great man, noble and gentleman-like, in Mewer's opinion. By mid-afternoon, Marguerite was finished with Mewer picking out colors and materials of fabric that would set her figure off perfectly.

"Louise, get your son. We are ready to depart."

"Aye, milady." Louise went upstairs to her son and came down with a boy of about 3 years of age. His dark brown hair was acutely opposite to Louise' blonde locks. He held the idea that he had once been a once, very robust child. His features had an unusual pallor to them, as if he had just been recovering from a horrid sickness. He gaped at her, a monument of exceeding wealth and beauty, something he had never seen before. All he had witnessed was the ruins of torched chateaus and nobles stripped of their wealth.

"Phillipe, Je suis Lady Blakeney," she said in French. She saw him relax and cling to his mother's skirts less tightly. He nodded to her and shyly hid his face in Louise's skirt-folds. She turned to her designer and offered her hand to him. "Thank you Mr. Mewer."

"It is my pleasure to serve the most beautiful woman in Europe." Inwardly, Marguerite snickered as he kissed her hand profusely. How similar she was described in Paris, with only "beautiful" replaced with, "cleverest."


	9. Chapter 9

The rattling on in the carriage was more amiable with young Phillipe and his mother aboard, at least during the start of the morning. Marguerite felt an almost envy for the relationship they had together, with the own knowledge that life had cheated her out of having parents, or at this point in her marriage, Marguerite believed, out of having her own children. To be with Percy in _that_ way, it horrified her to think of it again. Sure there had been one night, but they seemed to have rapidly changed the next day and grew apart so significantly, Marguerite could not believe that they would ever be one in the same again. Her original hopes of reconciliation only a few days before had been suppressed so quickly by her surprising attitude to Percy's personality, even though it had been no shock to encounter. She believed Percy had always _chose _to adopt that stupidity around her, but at now being a married couple, she had thought they would both act like the adults and partners they were.

"You were born in Bolougne?" Marguerite asked sometime during the ride back after an elongated amount of silence. It seemed rather a dull question to ask such a vibrant young woman. Surely they could know each other more closely than the facts of their life.

"Yes milady. I have lived there my whole life," Louise answered sleepily in broken English, cradling Phillipe's head on her lap. After the initial shock of riding in a plush carriage, the little toddler had settled himself next to a window and watched the landscape pass by like a series of moving pictures. Eventually the steady rhythm of Percy's prized bays and the drab view of the English countryside lulled him to a peaceful sleep.

"In my position Louise, I hope you understand..." Marguerite paused and situated herself into another sitting position, certainly not one as comfortable, but more ladylike and rigid. "I would like to know your needs for leaving France." Louise's face fell entirely, fear obvious on her face. She did not answer and only played with Phillipe's curls, avoiding her lady's perceptive gaze. "Louise, answer me. You mentioned at Mewer's that you were suspected for treason. What was that suspicion?" Louise flinched and kept her eyes on Phillipe, affection and defeat evident on her face.

"For bearing the child of an aristo, milady," Louise whispered the sacred secret. Marguerite could hardly keep the sharp intake of breath entering her lungs. She decided to stop her pursuits before poor Louise frightened and left her service the day she entered it. There was no more small talk afterwards until Blakeney Manor reappeared from behind century old trees and foliage. She remembered how impressed she was by her initial image of her now empty home, for she knew Percy meant what he said about hunting for a few days, leaving her with yet another lady's maid who despised and resented her, and taking Armand away from her embrace before he left. Mostly, Percy was considerate of her wishes and bid to them, but through some strong will, he now disobeyed and went his own path.

"Is Sir Percy here?" Louise asked hopefully.

"Nay, Louise. He and my brother, Monsieur St. Just, are hunting somewhere for the next few days."

"Ohh," Louise said with a glint in her eyes. "I understand."

_Do you?_ Marguerite wondered why her maid looked so smug, like she knew something her mistress didn't.

"Well, bring Phillipe. The servants entrance is on the east wing." She pointed to the location, where Louise would find a door leading to the grandeur kitchen. As her maid left to her own way, Marguerite gave a vehement sigh, gliding to the front doors of Blakeney Manor alone. It was dark inside. The life of the beautiful mansion seemed to die whenever the master was away, and a heavy pressure weighted Marguerite as she knocked on the big oak doors. It was a gorgeous residence, one that she would be proud to call home, if it weren't for the situation she was in. Marriage was a pretense that she had very quickly abandoned as soon as she had seen her husband that first morning, and despite her efforts to gain a friend in Louise, she seemed to be cold and unfeeling as a lady, just like the rest of the aristocrats she had been acquainted with. This weight seemed to get heavier as Marguerite thought of Armand's absence in exactly 5 days. She had no idea when he would get back with Percy. Hopefully they would have a day or two alone together before his leaving her to this imbecile. Chiding herself, she chose a kinder adjective for her husband-daft.

Upon entering her rooms she collapsed in agony on her four poster bed at this unseen weight of agony, loneliness, confusion and frustration. Although her pride would not admit it, yearning played a part in it as well. How could a lover like Sir Percy Blakeney change into an indifferent, cold, idiotic fop?

When Louise arrived with the news of dinner, she requested taking it in her rooms instead of the empty dining hall, where she would have sat by herself in silence. The rest of the day was left to her in the solitude of her rooms, doing whatever she pleased, writing letters, reading Rousseau, napping when she drifted off during times when she could not get into it. Being a lady felt utterly _useless... _

Her maid came in at dusk to change her into her nightgown. For the first time since the arrival home, she left the bed and went to the dressing room. To her shock, only her clothes hung there. Percy's wardrobe of gorgeous clothes that perfectly fit his physique had disappeared. "Where are Sir Percy's clothes?" She asked with dread. Louise shrugged, claiming Frank would know, since she had only been there for 8 hours at most. "I need you to inquire of him then." Marguerite replied after Louise had removed the layers of petticoats and her thin nightgown put over her shoulders. Louise had her open her arms to put on a dressing gown until she desired to sleep.

"Yes milady..." Louise said stiffly, and started toward the door.

"Louise... wait. I must apologize Louise, for my inquiries. I was just curious to know your circumstance."

Louise forced a smile onto her pretty face, but could not hide part of a fearful expression. " Tis fine Lady Blakeney. Someday, I may have the heart to tell the story, but not so soon after everything has happened.." Louise drifted off, pain evident on her face. " Am I allowed to take my leave?"

"Yes. Go directly to Frank and ask him. Then immediately come back and tell me."Marguerite anxiously waited for Louise's return and abruptly stood from her cushioned chair when the door opened. Louise looked troubled, and somewhat uncomfortable. She could see it wasn't going to to go well.

"Percy's valet says that... that" Louise did not finish, averting her eyes to the balcony, the bed, the floor. Anywhere but Marguerite. 

"Well?" Marguerite snapped, just wanting to hear the confirmed answer of what she had already suspected.

"He says Sir Percy removed to his own rooms on the opposite side of the house," Louise blurted quickly and loudly, and finally looked at Lady Blakeney, to see her reaction. There was no sign of it affecting her, despite the urgency in the tone of her voice when she requested her to find the answer. Marguerite, however, could feel the rest of her old life finally slipping away. There was only one way to repair the damage her husband had done. She had to confess. There was only hope left relying on his love, but Marguerite could appeal to him, and letting a few tears out expressing the loneliness she was going through, his ardent, passionate self would be reborn, scarcely able to bear the sight her in agony. They would be alright, if only she could fix this...


	10. Chapter 10

Armand glanced anxiously at Sir Andrew Foullkes, dressed in his ragged sailor's uniform, and hoped he looked as unrecognizable as his friend did. The fashionable, lively and kind young nobleman appeared to be a seafaring middle-aged brute with leathery tan skin caused from starting his career in his teens. Somehow, Foullkes had made some of his teeth disappear, pulling off the entire illusion. Armand scratched his itchy pepper gray wig, which was falling out of its ponytail in the back,and pulled down his pants, trying to cover his ankles. They were frayed at the end, and his sans-culotte costume was topped off with his dirty bare-feet and red Phrygian cap.

"Are you sure about handling this Armand?" Foullkes muttered in a tentative, uncertain whisper. Armand gulped down a hard lump in his throat and nodded, knowing all to well that what he was doing conflicted everything he had believed in, and went against everything he had worked for years. Still, Armand was going through with this fantastic, bizarre plan his brother-in-law had entrusted him the first meal without Marguerite. Halfway through the supper, after Percy had commented on the cut of his sleeves and such trivialities, he remarked,"I am going to visit Paris for a few days while Lady Blakeney is away. You are welcome to accompany me." Armand glanced up at Marguerite's husband, somewhat shocked that the coward Blakeney would want to go to France at all. The look on the man's face stupefied him even more. There was still a laziness to his blue eyes, but also a fervent, intense gaze in them, and Armand was thoroughly confused by this foppish man's sudden new attitude.

"What sport is there for you in France, Sir Percy?" He was answered by a half-shy smile and then by Percy's bell, tinkling in his long, feminine hands.

"Plenty to satisfy me..." Percy gazed off toward a window and then smiled. Setting down his fork he asked, "Would you like to take our conversation elsewhere? Or are you not done with your food yet?" For a reason Armand could not explain, he agreed to join him, leaving half of his food on his plate, and started toward the study downstairs. "Odds life Armand! There is more appropriate rooms for this conversation." Percy lead him to the stairway and guided him to a room that had totally gone unnoticed by himself. He vaguely remembered mistaking it for Marguerite's room and trying it, but finding it locked, he had passed on. At the time, Armand believed that there were probably dozens of rooms in the manor that were locked; it was nothing to be unexpected, but something struck him odd or special about this door, now that his brother-in-law would take special care to lock it. Percy took out an ornate key, unlocked it and paused before entering.

"I am choosing to trust you Armand, and have suspected-" Percy was cut off by Armand's laughter. Such an expression on Sir Percy's face, one of total and absolute seriousness, shocked Armand into this hysterical laughter. For a moment Percy raised an eyebrow in conusion and then smiled inanely again, and Armand could hardly feel that he had in some way disappointed him, and tried to explain his reasons for his humor.

"You demmed Frenchies are all the same," Percy muttered and stalked into the room. Armand could barely believe he was almost pleading to gain Percy's confidence again. This fellow probably needed to talk to him about something important, maybe a business transaction, or marriage advice. He knew things weren't going well with his sister's marriage to Blakeney. There was obviously serious problems between the two of them if Marguerite had fled to him the day after her marriage, and came back to _this_ Percy, who she claimed was different from before, though Armand could not remember Percy sweating over anything non-trivial before matrimony.

"Give me reason to be unlike any 'Frenchie' Percy. Tell me, what would you confide in me?"

"Gad my dear boy!" Percy laughed his usual laugh again. "I wish your opinion on the color of the new smock of my coat! What do you think?" Armand ignored this somewhat bitter and sarcastic comment Blakeney made. He was being thoroughly surprised every moment of this encounter.

"This is not what you dragged me up here to discuss, Sir Percy."

"I did not drag you up here to be laughed at, Armand." Percy's eyes and voice blazed with emotion again.

"Of course Percy, forgive me. I was just a little shocked at first..."Armand had drifted off as Percy smiled his real smile. It was a full smile, of joy and fulfillment.

"You will see Armand, that I have plans for this sport in France," Percy replied as he shut the door and locked it. Armand glanced around the room, filled with plush furniture like every other room in Blakeney Manor. In front of large windows overlooking the garden, a wide, dark desk invited one to sit in the comfy, velvet chair behind it. Armand could tell Percy spent many hours alone in this room, whether napping or watching his wife and her friends strolling the grounds. On one wall were two maps, one of France, and then Paris. On the other side of the dark wooden wall, was a picture of a beautiful blonde-haired lady. Armand guessed it must have been an ancestor. He glanced back at Percy who was already sitting down in the chair behind the desk, leaning on his hands. "But I must have your word that this will be a secret, from everyone, even M-" Percy paused for a painful, suspenseful moment. "Even your sister."

"Why?" Armand sat down on a chair across from Percy. He was now more curious than ever about this proposition Percy was suggesting, and wished he would get to the point.

"You see Armand..."Percy shuffled his hands together and then started over, "I am sure you have heard of the Scarlet Pimpernel?"

"That English fellow whisking away aristos?"

"Yes my dear Armand. What would you you do if I told you I...knew him?" Percy was nervous, shaking actually. His fingers tapped a tattoo on the desk aand his leg moved to an unsteady rhythm.

"You know the.. Scarlet Pimpernel?" Out of all the aristocrats the spy could have told his identity to, it was this man? The fop of fops, king of dandies?

"Did he tell you this himself?"

"No!" Percy shook his head instantly. His eyes finally rested on Armand's figure, although he could not quite meet the other's eye. "No, the Scarlet Pimpernel would not tell anyone his identity."

"How do you know then?"

"He saved me..." Percy finally met his eyes and Armand found depths of passion, longing, curiosity. understanding, and heartbreak.

"What? When did the French dare try to guillotine you?"

"It was a time a great physical, and emotional trouble for me personally."He sighed and leaned back in his chair. "He found me, or rather, I found him in the streets of Paris. He saved his first of many that day," Percy gave a wistful smile.

Armand thought he understood now. "Percy...Are you in league with the Scarlet Pimpernel?"

Percy had given a long laugh, not inane and annoying, but full, amusing and actually joyful. "Sink me Armand! I am the Scarlet Pimpernel."

Armand remembered the conversation they had afterwards, of his incredulity at this reveal, the more Armand thought about it, the more it made sense to him. Percy was the center of the circles in London, he was rich and totally unsuspected by everyone who was acquainted with the fop or even thought they knew him. Thinking of this again, he remembered Percy's blind trust in him, not knowing for sure that he wouldn't betray him. Armand knew if he went back on his oath, Percy would never look at him the same way.

"I'll meet you at the Chat Gris in two days," Armand informed Foullkes and went on his way to Calais' prison. Even though Percy was in Paris to help with the league there, Armand knew he'd look at him with pride and satisfaction the next time he saw his brother-in-law.


	11. Chapter 11

**Just wanted to say a few things, but I finally remembered to put this in my chapter! A special thanks to those who have been reviewing every chapter. I really love you a lot! Marguerite and Alpine Sheep;}**

**I am ALMOST done with this fanfic but i hope your guys enjoyed these past few chapters. As I have written this, I really have discovered my love for creating adventure within the League! Thanks to all who have been reading and plus, a few more followers and reviewers wouldn't either. =D**

...

The Prison Captain had been bored all day, no, he had been bored for years... He would rather have been sent to fight the enemy than sit around waiting for prisoners to try to escape. He spat a clump of tobacco, got another wad out of his bag and chewed again. He chomped, trying to soften it, so when the waste collector came, he just pointed inside and worked on his tobacco. After some of the juices were absorbed, he leaned back and sighed. The privates lazying on the steps around him snored or played cards to pass the time, itching their lice-covered hair or flea-infested clothes occasionally. Slowly and going unnoticed, he drifted off to slumber and dream peacefully in this excruciating boredom. The captain had barely dozed off when a scuffle disrupted his rest. His men held a traitor in their arms, young and brown-haired. A pepper-gray wig had fallen on the hay-covered ground and not wanting to show his moment of sleep-weakness, he ordered the man to be taken inside the prison.

Turning to his lieutenant, he whispered,"What did he do to be seized?" The other man chuckled and patted his back.

"He tried to go around the prison to enter. Most likely to free his lover. Stupid idiot tried going through a window.. He fell into the bushes." The captain shook his head and chuckled.

"Just more fuel for Madame la Guillotine."

"Good work."

"Thanks," The other grinned and followed him into the prison to question their prisoner. The fugitive had his head in his hands and was visibly shaking as he sat behind the table. They sat across from him and smirked at each other.

"Your plan didn't work out like you expected it to be, did it?" The man opposite to them just shook his head again as he sobbed.

"Were you trying to rescue the Comtesse? That was her window you tried to enter."

After a long time, the man finally nodded. _Coward, _the Captain thought.

"Stop your blubbering man. Now you will both perish together. Give thanks to our just Republic!"

"That's just it...She wasn't in her cell!" The man broke down even more. Both the Captain and Lieutenant went white.

"What do you mean 'she wasn't in her cell'?"

"She wasn't there!"

Both of them rushed out and raced to Comtesse Courtney's cell. It was the sight not one soldier in France wanted to see, and it gave a the two officers a queasy and foreboding feeling in their cell was _empty_. The door was open and on her bed, a note with a scarlet flower. The Captain tried to remember where he had heard about this signature. Somewhere in the papers from Paris or something. His lieutenant gasped when he handed it to him and dropped it like one would handling a poisonous snake. "What's with you?"

'That's... that.." His comrade just gaped at the paper fluttering to the floor.

"WHAT IS IT? Spit it out!" The lieutenant blinked, as if awakened from a dream and started to shake.

"It's the Scarlet Pimpernel."  
...

Armand reined in his horses to the lifeless canal by moonlight, pretending to dump the wastes he had collected from the prison. Among that was Comtesse Courtney, who was hidden somewhere in that mess of rotting food and human excrement. At the moment, Armand was in the best mood he had ever been in his entire life. There was a feeling of almost madness and indestructibility, like he would live young forever. Soon, he spied the Comtesse's eyes and heard her gasping for fresh breath again.

"Where are we?" She sat up wearily.

"At the canal Comtesse. You may get out now." She jumped off and fled to the canal water, washing off her face and hands, and sighed.

"My son will be very happy to hear that I got out. The poor lad, he was trying to get me out himself." She met Armand's eyes, which betrayed his ragged look. They looked young, alive and bright, not dull and hopeless like most citizens of France displayed. "You almost remind me of him, Monsieur."

"We both share our love and devotion for those in need," Armand tried to sound noble, but felt he had made a fool of himself then. He indeed had fought for the suppressed lower class of farmers and bourgeoisie, but now he saved the targeted upper class from death. Where exactly did his loyalties lie?

"Hurry Comtesse. My fellow members are waiting for you at the yacht." They left the cart in the shadows, for Armand was supposed to come back to it to bring another family to the Daydream the next day, before Percy would meet up with them with some aristos of his own. Then, they would sail for England with a boatload full of refugees. Most of the league members would have to help them settle into their new home, but Armand had an exception; Marguerite would need him the last few days he was in England. Through just these few days, Armand could tell almost every thought associated with the League's, and Percy's own actions, brought the picture of his wife to Percy's mind. How cruel life could be, when Armand knew both sides of the story! He would not tell Percy, of course, that was Marguerite's job, but he could encourage her to reconcile if he knew Percy's true character. Putting a gentle hand on the Comtesse's back he guided her to the Daydream.


	12. Chapter 12

**Gad! This is my longest chapter yet and I would like to thank Alpine Sheep for giving me so much support throughout this whole story! I have plenty of ideas for more SP fanfics of course, even though you guys seem like a sleeping fanbase...haha jk. Really, I know you guys are awesome, Love you all and enjoy!**

Sir Percy was seen on the shores of Calais in an irreproachable outfit, styled to fit his six foot odd gorgeousness to perfection. His hands were deep in his breeches' pockets. Armand almost whooped for joy when he saw his brother-in-law, but withheld, knowing it would draw attention to the Daydream. A young couple walked next to him in normal peasant clothing. Behind them, he could see a group of soldiers stalking the trio, giving Armand a pang of fear. Percy stood out like a fish out of water. They would question him and arrest him, and...

"Don't worry St. Just," Dewhurst patted his shoulder. "He knows what he is doing, but it is best if we just carry on, or else it would look suspicious." Armand nodded and joined the other League members who were quietly toasting to their Leader. He faced the docks and watched the soldiers order Percy to stop. His heart's pace quickened and he clenched his glass tightly. The rescuees went on ahead, but the Scarlet Pimpernel followed the rogues back in the direction of the Calais prison. "He's been captured!" He hissed. Foullkes turned around, watched the tall figure go, and smirked.

"The Scarlet Pimpernel should be able to get out of situations his own stupidity causes. The poor fellow will be fine." Armand shook his head and slipped from the group, almost running down the gangplank to reach the figures in the distance, when the couple Percy had been escorting stopped him.

"Sir, are you part of that group on the boat?" The young woman asked warily.

"Yes, I am Monsieur St. Just."

"Good," the young man said. He had dark hair, almost black, while the young woman had hair that was too dark to be blonde, but to light to be brown. He handed a note to Armand and waited as he read it.

**Fellows, **

**I have discovered the son of one of our "goods" has been arrested and is in the Calais prison. I will be back on the yacht by ten o'clock tonight with him. Do ****_not_**** leave the Daydream.**

At he bottom was the Scarlet Pimpernel's signature drawn out roughly in red chalk. Armand looked up and smiled at the adolescents. They had to both be younger than Marguerite. Their round eyes were both blue and innocent, and Armand gestured to the Daydream, where he got them refreshments and helped them adjust. He gave the note to Foullkes to read and inform the League members.

"So where were you when you rescuer saved you?"

"Well," the young lady named Jeanne laughed. She sipped her wine and then swirled it around in the glass,"We were hiding out in some rag-tag inn. I said something stupid and ignorant when I voiced my opinion in front of someone. They pounced on it and reported it. I knew I was to be arrested." She froze her gaze on the ground, a sort of fearful look on her face, as if she relived the episode. "But my Louis," she looked up at the dark-haired man and smiled with love. He found her hand and squeezed it. "he would not leave me. We were together for days, trying to remain inconspicuous, but we would have been found out eventually. It was a few days after that the mam came and helped us escape Paris."

"How did he do it?" Armand wanted to hear the exciting, deliberate escape, where they were chased by soldiers for days afterwards, in the storming rain, and managed to withstand the clutches only through Percy's cunning trickery.

"He got her fake papers while I still had mine pure," Louis informed, "and we left the city undetected. They are probably still looking for Jeanne in Paris ." Armand sat back, a little disappointed.

"Ohh, so everything went as planned? That's good, that's good. Well," Armand sighed and slumped against his chair. "you should probably rest. I'll show you to your rooms." They climbed down the steps to the quarters of the yacht. Every single room was taken by the amount of victims they had saved. Armand had rescued the little family consisting of aristocrat parents and an infant from their manor two days before and then Comtesse Courtney yesterday. Other members of the League including Percy had rounded up about a dozen aristos, but they couldn't account for the space. There was one bedroom left, and Percy wouldn't allow them to share a room. He would have to bother some lady or lord to inquire after a room. It would be difficult since Louis was a peasant. They wouldn't stand to share a room with someone beneath them. Then, he wanted to kick himself in the leg. _Just because the St. Cyrs were like that, doesn't make every aristocrat a pompous dolt_._ Look at Percy, did he disregard you or Marguerite?_ Well, he had to rule out his sister for obvious reasons.

Still, when he knocked on the first door, he could not help recall the scars on his back from the beating. It seemed they had renewed in power and pain even though it occurred years ago. He massaged his back as the door swung open. It was a young man in rich, but dirty clothing. He had a book in hand and smiled at the trio. "Yes?"

"There is not enough room in the boat. Could this young man, Louis here, room with you as we travel across the Channel?" Armand was ready to bolt back up to the deck if he said no. He couldn't handle this rejection.

"Of course," he laughed as he shook Armand's sweaty palms. His eyes scrunched up like suns when he laughed like that and Armand found it made him laugh. His scars stopped hurting. "Thank you sir, for you and your men's cause. It is very noble."

"Oh I am not-"

"Come Louis. We'll find you some place to sleep. A chair maybe." Louis glanced back at Jeanne and gave her a small, yearning smile, before walking into the cabin.

"Jeanne your cabin is over here." Armand walked to the end of the row of rooms. It was right across from Percy's quarters.

The girl, most likely eighteen or so, turned and smiled at him. She took his hand and kissed it. "Thank you for having that man save me and Louis. We can start over in England." Armand was shocked. Why did they think _he_ was the Scarlet Pimpernel?

_..._

Percy_ actually _enjoyed his time in jail. He cried out in horrible, broken French, "These demmed seats are covered in dirt! I demand to be taken to-"

"Oh shut up aristo!" The Captain Guard was quite irritable, considering he had lost 9 potential victims for the guillotine in the area. He would have to make up for it with his own life, almost every soldier knew that fact. Besides the fact, Percy intended to make his stay memorable in this man's now shortened life.

It was amusing to see the young man across from him in the other cell look so hopeless, when Percy's true intent was to save the boy. He was foolish, of course. Gad, if he ever sent one of his men to go climbing up prison walls... However, from what he heard, the young man had tried to save his poor mother, which somewhat raised Percy's opinion. He eyed the lad with his eyeglass and smiled inanely,"I have a prison mate? What's your name boy?" The young man did nothing, didn't move. He stayed where he was, looking up at the window, almost as if he were...

"Sink me, do you keep dead prisoners in here to scare us? How inhumane are y-"

"Shut up. The boy is still alive. He just won't move or eat."

"That sounds pretty dead to me," Percy sniffed and turned his head toward the Captain. He chewed his tobacco like a maniac and almost looked like a man who knew he was going to die. He fumbled his hands in laps and trembled in fear. Through his eyeglass he could see his fingernails bitten to stumps. He looked away in disgust and saw the Comtesse's boy had turned his head toward him.

"Surely Captain, I thought you had more aristos than this? Sink me! We are the only ones in this blasted prison." He could see the words had almost physically struck the man. He whipped his head up and then stood, barreling to the cell doors and shook them.

"I said SHUT UP!" He followed with multiple cruel, vile words that Sir Percy, Baronet, would loathe to say.

"Sink me," he said in awe, "I never knew language could be quite as dirty as this prison." He saw the captain's face blaze red before fumbling for the key to Sir Percy's cell. _Perfect_. He prepared himself and gripped the metal plate in his hands. As the Captain Guard stalked to him, hand raised ready to strike, Percy feigned fear and shrunk back. Just before the looming man reached him, Percy straightened, and was about 6 inches taller than the imposer. He swung the plate on the Captain's head hard enough to knock him out. He crouched down and grabbed the keys to the boy's cell, who now stood up in anxiety.

"You're Comtesse Courtney's son?"

"Yes, it's Henry."

"Well Henry," Percy unlocked the door and went inside. "You'll be leaving the same way you came. Through the window." Henry was a muddle of confusion. "Henry, I helped rescue your mother. She is waiting for you on the boat. Do you trust me now?" His pale face nodded and started to climb up to the window."Wait, Henry. I want you to follow every direction. Meet me at the Chat Gris. Do you know the pl-"

"Yes, it is near the slums."

"Good. Wait for me there for half an hour. If not, rent out the loft until I come." He handed Henry a few gold coins. "You understand everything?"

"Yes," Henry answered and then gazed down a him with awe. Percy smiled back up at him, but only for a moment. He could hear shuffling around the corner, and backed out of the cell, back to his own, where the Captain Guard still lay passed out. Gad, he didn't mean to hit him so hard! He dragged him into Henry's space and dropped the keys next to the body. When he looked up, Henry was absent from the prison, and smiled.

Percy went back to his own cell and sat on the floor. He waited so Henry would have a good head start, and absentmindedly brushed off the dirt from the prison. He sighed, knowing his whole outfit was ruined. He would have to get a whole new fitting at Mewer's...  
"Help, help!" he cried as loud as he could in his fop-like attitude. "HELP!" He screeched, and then the soldiers came running in. They saw their Captain passed out and turned immediately to Percy for an explanation. "Don't look at me. The..the boy! He w-w-went crazy. Gad, he knocked out the guard and...and..and"

"And what?" The leader asked impatiently.

"And jumped OUT the window! Gad, he nearly made my heart stop with surprise! He could have ripped his breeches!"

"Oh quiet aristo." the one soldier demanded disgustedly. "Someone get the Captain out of here. Everyone else, let's find this brat. He's got to be in Calais somewhere." After all the soldiers had all filed out and left the prison, including the Captain Guard (still unconscious), Percy silently stood, and without a creak, he opened his unlocked door. Grinning ear to ear, he walked out without restraint through the prison.


	13. Chapter 13

**So this chapter has some angsty/painful feelings for Percy, and I liked writing it. I wanted a conversation with Andrew or Armand, but figured Andrew was his best friend and would understand better. Plus, I didn't know if anyone was getting tired of Armand yet. Next chapter will have Marguerite in it, I promise, in case you're missing her. Since it is summer, I will be able to write chapters more than once a week. Yay! Enjoy, and don't forget to review/favorite!**

Foullkes put down his glass for the last time and laughed jovially. The other league members clinked their own glasses or "huzzah"ed. This adventurer was by far the best, even though Percy was absent the whole time. He had been in Paris seeking out any traitors of the Republic and brought back a couple. He had not met them yet, but saw Armand beckon them onto the boat and into the cabin area. It made him smile; Armand had settled into affairs rather quickly than anyone else had, despite everyone's fears of a betrayal. Andrew himself remembered how he had heaved on the side of the road in Paris after seeing his first execution and feeling that awful pit in his stomach that he could do nothing but watch. Percy had knelt next to him and whispered, "Do you see why we must intervene?"

"Yes Percy," he had moaned, and grasped his forearm, pulling him up. Percy had been like this, pulling him up at times of trouble, ever since their days at school. Andrew smiled again, this period in his life was the most meaningful, most exciting and interesting than any other, or ever would be, unless Percy somehow came up with some type of daring scheme in the future. A voice interrupted his thoughts and everyone else's celebrating.

"Sink me boys!" An inane laugh ensued and the voice continued,"You must be trying to dry out my demmed wine supply to punish me for coming back late." At the first comment, Andrew jumped in fear and then grinned boyishly at recognition. It was almost pitch black outside, but he could assume the other men were doing the same. "We'll have to start with the tide tomorrow morning, sorry boys."

"You'll have to apologize to St. Just. He's been pacing the deck out of anxiety." It was Dewhurst's voice. Others chuckled huskily.

"Someone get a light, it's pitch black out here," Percy ordered, and at first, almost everyone scrambled to get a candle lit, but then Andrew called out he would and they stopped in their tracks. Percy poured himself a glass of wine while Andrew got out a match. When a lantern was lit, they could see him, in all his strength, looking downright tired and dirty. The others did not notice it and in hushed voices, recounted the stories of their rescues. He sounded joyful and proud of the league, but he was weighed down by something, much like the night he had confessed about his fight and estrangement from Marguerite.

"By the way men, this Henry. His mother is Comtesse Courtney. Was it St. Just who saved her?" A teenage boy, a little scruffy looking stepped into the light. He had brown hair and dark eyes, at least in the dim light.

"Aye, it was," Armand answered for the first time that night.

"There you are boy! Could you reunite Henry with his mother?"

"Of course." Armand lead him down, out of sight to join him with his mother. Andrew could guess it would be quite a happy reunion and beamed again.

...

It was after midnight when Percy retired, signifying his silent order for everyone else to as well. Andrew silently followed him to his cabin and when Percy turned to unlock the door, he flinched. "Gad Foullkes! Don't give a man warning do you?"

"Sorry Blakeney. You usually see me. I thought you knew I was behind you."

"No, I must be off tonight or something. I am much too tired than I should be." Percy ran a hand over his eyes and frowned.

"I was actually wanting to ask you about that," Andrew said nervously.

"Of course you did Foullkes, you always see through me." Percy regarded him for a moment and then smiled, "Well come inside Andrew. I figure you aren't going to stop pestering me until I tell you."

"Good, you know me as well as I know you," Andrew smiled and Percy laughed. The door opened and both men walked through. "Is it Marguerite?"

Percy gave him a look. "It's always about Marguerite, Andrew."

"Did the 'new' personality work?"

"For her to resent me even more? Yes Andrew, it succeeded, even if I believe that was my worst acting." While Andrew placed himself on a chair bolted to the floor, Percy sat on the bed and untied his cravat. He sighed and breathed deeply, like it had been choking him.

"You seemed fine when you left England."

"But now I have to see her soon. I have to deal with knowing that I am the worst husband in the history of mankind, and that the only woman whom I have ever loved loathes me for it." Percy plopped his head down on his bed in frustration and hopelessness. It reminded Andrew of how an adolescent would act when they were annoyed with their parents.

"Why are you coming back now?" The blonde head raised off the mattress and frowned.

"She would ask where I was if Armand came back alone. That's the only reason I am leaving so quickly."

"That's the only reason?"

"Yes, and I wish I didn't have to come back with all these refugees. They remind me of everything I lack."

"What?" Andrew didn't know what was wrong with Percy at the moment. The wine or lack of sleep must have gotten to him.

Percy stood and walked to the windows looking out to the dimmed lights of Calais, as if the distant cries for help were calling him back. "Did you see the way Louis and Jeanne looked at each other?" His friend didn't turn around from the window, and for once, Andrew couldn't imagine his facial expression.

"No, I didn't get to speak to them yet. I'm guessing they are in love?"

"As in love as you can get. Andrew, they were almost sick with it." Percy turned around, pain and jealousy evident on his face. "Louis gave up _everything_ for her." He was silent for awhile. Andrew could not interrupt it, for he had nothing else to say.

"Andrew, I spent 24 hours with them, hearing their manifestations of love, seeing their embraces, their hope. It reminded me... of Marguerite and I." Agony was clear in every movement, expression, tone, ripping Andrew's heart open like a knife. "How," he whispered. "How can we be like _this_ when I thought we loved each other?" Andrew now wished his friend would stop. This was almost to hard to hear, and Percy was the one experiencing it. "And Comtesse Courtney's son Henry, he _climbed up a window_ to get to his mother. He nearly sacrificed his life to save her or die with her, and she wasn't even there!" He started to pace the floor. "Marguerite wouldn't do that for me. Andrew, if I was caught and put into a French prison, do you think she would come for me? Would she do whatever it took to get there to be with me?" He looked to Andrew urgently, wanting an actual answer.

"I think, if you continue on this way, treating her indifferently, she won't." Andrew spoke his mind like Percy would want him to. He couldn't lie to his best friend.

Percy stopped and nodded, "Good. She will be less hurt that way, in case that does ever happen."

"Percy, you are _not_ going to die. So far, not one French official can measure up to you."

"Frenchies can be demmed stupid or demmed smart. There is bound to be at least one opponent who can measure up to the League."

"Percy, I've never met a man like you before. There isn't bound to be another person who could be as clever or passionate as you are." His friend smiled warmly and patted his shoulder.

"Thanks Andrew. This helped me. I thought I would explode if I didn't discuss this with someone."

"Anytime, my friend." Andrew stood and made his way to the door. He paused and asked, "So what will you do about Marguerite?"

Percy's expression fell, "I-I don't know Foullkes. God knows I cannot trust her, nor ever forget what she's done."

"Perhaps things will play out alright. If anyone deserves happiness, it is you Percy."

The Scarlet Pimpernel feigned a smile, but then shook his head. "I think you are wrong about that one my friend, I deserve everything that's been folded to me." Andrew just looked at that massive figure and could not help but disagree. In every instance, he believed Percy was in the right. Something so good could not be cursed with such bad luck. And as he shut the door, leaving his friend alone, he shook his head. He passed by all the other rooms with the French Emigres and smiled. They were all safe. He turned and looked back at Percy's door before going back up the steps to the deck. He could not help but feel he had opened up a healing wound and sprinkled salt over it, rather than bandage it and help it close without becoming infected.


	14. Chapter 14

In the end, Lady Blakeney did decide to greet her husband, despite his late arrival. Louise watched her relentlessly pace across her immaculate bedroom for the better part of an hour. Sir Percy had sent the ladyship into a frenzy of worry mixed with anger for coming back tardy. Lay Blakeney now had a little more than a day left with her beloved brother. In her woman's heart, Louise felt somewhat sympathetic for her mistress, but she always forced herself to remember that it was a man or a woman just like her who had destroyed her and Phillipe's future. The Vicomte Mange had promised to marry her, but like most of the aristocrats in the area, he and the rest of his family had been guillotined. Soon, the rumors spread; the government had caught wind that there was still a descendent of the medieval Mange family- her little Phillipe.

She had made up the story of course, in the milliner's home, however much she wished it had happened. She turned red and lowered her eyes from Lady Blakeney. She knew that the Scarlet Pimpernel would never kiss a woman like that, especially after seeing his wife. She realized the story would spread like wildfire and thought it did Sir Percy a favor; the Scarlet Pimpernel had lacked something until then. Now he was rogue sort of fellow. The ladies ate it up and the men secretly envied his attention. Gentlemen would be reprimanded if they ever treated a woman like that, but since this mysterious fellow was saving lives, why, he was quickly forgiven. The maids had drooled over her story while that Mewer turned bright red with anger and jealousy! What one man would do to honestly confess that they were part of that heroic little band of Englishmen; they would be the toast of London. Louise wondered what one would give, or pay, to loose the tongue of one who knew the identity of the Scarlet Pimpernel...

_No_, she shook her head, dismissing thoughts of greediness. The Blakeneys had given her more than the Mange's had: a job, a lavish roof over her head, and a doctor for Phillipe. Her son would have died either by the guillotine or sickness if Percy had not saved them from prison. He still recovered, but Lady Blakeney had sent for one of the finest doctors in Europe to care for him. If Louise hadn't heard of the rumors from the guards in prison, she never would have guessed that Lady Blakeney had sent a whole aristocratic family to their deaths. Such kindness somehow masked over the underlying hatred for the centuries-old French aristocracy. She would not tell the whole story, however much her ladyship demanded. Marguerite St. Just could betray her confidence and tell the spying agents (that she was no doubt corresponding with) that the last survivor of the Mange family was in her home! They would kidnap her Phillipe and kill him! _No, _she shook her head again. It must have been revenge when she had betrayed the St. Cyrs. Not many bloodthirsty bourgeois women could attract rich, noblemen like Sir Percy Blakeney.

Out front, Louise heard the rattle of the carriage announcing Sir Percy and Armand St. Just's return. "Milady. They are here." Lady Blakeney flinched, as if in deep thought and turned a shade pale.

"Good. Come out with me. When we come in, you can go to bed."

"But what about your nightclothes?"

"I can do it myself _sometimes_," her ladyship grinned tiredly. "I was not always a lady Louise." She swept by her with a natural elegance that made Louise doubt it. How had they held the same status at some point? She ducked her head and followed Lady Blakeney, who swiftly glided down the steps with an air of consummate grace. Louise had to hurry to catch up to her and hit something hard with her foot. She bucked forward, almost into Lady Blakeney, and swiveled her body, falling into the balustrade. Thankfully, the woman didn't notice her blunder and bashfully righted herself, though she could hear the sound of someone snickering behind her. She turned abruptly and only saw the flash of a maidservant's dress. She grinded her teeth and tried think on the stairs she was taking because obviously, she needed to work on walking up and down _steps_. She raised her head and tried to carry what little dignity she had left.

The doorman opened the door for Lady Blakeney and when she had passed through, he winked at Louise. She rolled her eyes and followed her lady outside. To her surprise, she was some ways in front of her. What Louise saw before her made her gape-Lady Blakeney had dissolved all sorts of decorum and was running to the two men farther up the walk. Louise grasped her skirts and followed quickly. Before anything, Lady Blakeney threw her arms around her brother. Louise turned her eyes away from the intimate moment as they mumbled in French. She instead, watched the handsome Sir Percy Blakeney gazing at the two of them, an odd expression on his face. He masked his feelings well, but somehow, she felt his countenance, a terrible sadness and couldn't make out much more. When she finally released Monsieur St. Just, she turned to Percy and pause, as if she did not know what to do. Louise would have embraced the Vicomte if she was married to him, if it had been a different time... It angered her that Lady Blakeney had such feelings, for she knew her mistress loved her husband, and pushed them back and ignored them. What _she_ would do to see Phillipe's father one more time.

"Sir Percy," she greeted warily and curtsied. Sir Percy bowed gallantly in response and sought out her hand, giving it the smallest of kisses. It was an awkward exchange.

"Lady Blakeney, forgive me," he drawled. Louise watched Lady Blakeney's face fall. "For our untimely return. The tide came in dreadfully late."

"Or was it you, Sir Percy, who came in late? It's _never_ late. The tide was just doing its duty, _on time_." Louise shifted her feet as Percy gave little to no reaction at the bitterness that was aimed at him, "Well, you can't change anything now. Armand has tomorrow with me and then he leaves." She turned to her brother with an aching sadness.

"Sorry," Percy yawned. "What did you say Madame? I am so _demmed_ tired ." There was a pause. "Now, I will bid you goodnight m'dear. You only have tomorrow with your brother you know, before he leaves." Lady Blakeney scowled at her husband and they all watched him walk down the path in long strides.

"It is as if my words go in one ear and out the other!" Lady Blakeney muttered vehemently. St. Just still watched that figure, somewhat concerned.

"I'm sure Percy_ is_ tired. We had a long trip." She turned on him accusingly.

"What were you doing with him?" He shuffled his feet and wiped his damp brow. Lady Blakeney suddenly noticed Louise still standing there and nodded to her. As Louise strode away, she only heard:

"Ughh...Spending time with my brother-in-law..." Knowing lady Blakeney already, she assumed a pointed look was followed by that comment.

...

"Armand! Wake up!" Marguerite shoved him. He rolled over in the grass drowsily.

"I was not sleeping," he assured, and put a hand over his eyes to shield the sun. "I was merely resting my eyes for a moment." Marguerite did not say anything for a few moments, chewing her triangular sandwiches. She sat in the sun, but was protected from its rays through her big, floppy, sun hat. Nearby was a huge oak tree promising shade and farther still was the glittering river.

"You know Armand," she was answered by a grunt and continued on. "I can't believe Percy would ever send you to do such tiring work before a long journey. Where did you go exactly?"

Her brother sighed and finally looked at her. "We went hunting, up north."

"Where _exactly_?" A flash of nervousness shown in his eyes. She would have to prod him further. To think that her brother was anxious and lying straight to her face almost scared her.

"I don't know," Armand said exasperated, "You should ask Percy. _He_ iwas the one who lead the journey. I know it was the wilderness, up north, maybe Scotland. I can't be sure."

Marguerite narrowed her eyes. "You didn't even bother to ask?"

"Marguerite just _stop_." Marguerite flinched away. "I was focused on hunting not the place it was located. We moved around a lot, so it was impossible to figure it out. If you are _so_ worried about where I was, just ask your husband."

"And how was my husband?" Marguerite toyed with blades of grass in her fingers.

"Very amiable. My opinion of him grows stronger every day," he said, admiration in his voice.

"While mine lessens as each day ends," she muttered. Armand watched her, concerned.

"Marguerite. He isn't what you think he is. You need to talk to him."

She shook her head. "Armand, I don't think I can. Every time I see Percy I want to confess about the Marquis, but every time, I forget because I am so angry at him. He says things that make me want to strangle him."

"You need to tell him, because he thinks you are some type of monster-"

"I already know that. He would rather believe stranger's stories than listen to his own wife. And he said he _loved_ me!" Marguerite lifted her eyes defiantly. Armand looked at her hopelessly and downcast. She frowned and sighed, "Fine, Armand. I will tell Percy what happened, _just_ to make you feel better, but I doubt it will change anything." Armand smiled and lay back down. Marguerite huddled up next to him and laughed. "You know we used to do this as children _papa_."

"Yes, _petite maman_. I remember, except I distinctly do not recall laying on a nobleman's grassy yard."

"No, I guess that never happened, did it? I think we were much used to hard places though." Armand vaguely smiled and dozed off. Marguerite let him rest and watched him, trying to memorize every feature before they were separated for months.


	15. Chapter 15

**Hey I am SO sorry for the delay in writing. I was in a bit of a writer's block, and came up with a little story I am doing about Armand and Angele St. Cyr. It's called Armand and His Angel, so check it out! Have fun with this chapter that has a bit of everything in it: humor(hopefully), sadness, and _a lot_ of dramatic irony. Remember to review, fav, follow,but especially REVIEW!**

"I'm sorry we did not have much time together,"Armand choked, as if realizing this really _was_ goodbye. Marguerite glanced over at Percy, some yards away. She was glad at the moment that he had given them space, that she did not have to control her irritation with him while she said farewell to her brother, who she loved more than anyone, alas, even more than _him_.

"Armand, you _will_ visit?" Her voice was full of emotion and she forced the tears down that threatened to flow out of her child-like eyes.

Armand looked to the ground and then at her husband, who gazed past the docks and out to the Channel, as if something called to him. "You know I would love to, Marguerite." He avoided her gaze, "but I cannot my dear. Besides, everyone knows my sister is an aristocrat now. I will have work harder than ever for people to trust me."

"I'm sorry Ar-"

"Do not be sorry, Marguerite," He squeezed her hand and continued, "Just be happy for me. Enjoy your new society, your new life." She forced a smile and broke her searching gaze to watch Percy. Her new life was with _that_ man.

"I will _try_ to Armand. For you."

"Good." He pulled her into a snug embrace. "That is all I have ever wanted for you, _maman_." She squeezed him and remembered when a world was just the two of them. They faced all of life's cruelties together, hand in hand with support and love until they were successful in their careers. Never in her life had she been separated in such long distance from Armand before, and couldn't help but wish she was going with. How she yearned for her life with Armand, a life on stage, to be known and admired. Who knew if London would accept her? Armand shifted his arms almost crushing her. His face was buried in her hair, and she did not stop to think that they were creating a spectacle. Armand must have disregarded them as well, for his thoughts were full of Marguerite, his little mother who had been like a little caretaker. When she came to him, still a teenager but already starting her acting career, she nursed him back to health after being beaten almost to _death_ by St. Cyr's henchmen. He had forgiven them, but Marguerite still hated the Marquis with all her heart.

He was going to miss her encouragements, advice, and witty sallies. It was going to be hard to live without her, but he knew these adventures with Percy were going to somehow fill that empty hole. He knew he would be able to do much good for the League for the next several months.

Marguerite pulled away, crying now, and touched his cheek, then kissed his forehead. "Write to me."

"I promise. Every day!" Armand struggled now to keep his emotions in. His feelings always over-flowed whenever he saw Marguerite cry. He sniffed and then looked up, almost wishing to be saved from this situation.

"Sink me, you'll miss the tide!" Percy stepped in. His voice was gentle, and Armand saw him give small glances to his wife, who was struggling to cover up her tears.

"Yes," her voice shook, "You must not be late." Armand nodded and turned away, eyes peeled to the ground. "And Armand?" She called to him, making him turn.

"Yes?"

She sighed, "Be careful _papa_. It is not safe in Paris."

Armand smiled, "I know. _Adieu _sister_._"

"_Adieu_," she whispered. Armand shook hands with Percy, boarded the yacht and was soon off. For a few minutes, she watched as her brother sailed across the Channel.

"Well," Percy suddenly drawled lazily. "I will retire to Jelly's. Whenever you're ready-"

"I can accompany you now Sir Percy." She took his offered arm and struggled to say something else. Her heart felt ripped open, and already, she felt alone.

"La," her husband exclaimed, waving his eye-glass around. "I must be the most demmed lucky man in England!"

"Why is that?" Marguerite barely registered anything she or he said. It was a subconscious part of her brain that asked him, however dull the question was.

"Because I have the best wine in England m'dear, _that's why_," Percy laughed at his comment.

"You do?" She could hear her drowsy voice struggling to keep up with this conversation. If she was hardly comprehending what Percy was saying, what did that say about her?

His half-shy laugh resounded, hurting her sensitive ears. "I was attempting wit, Madame, and have failed miserably."

"No," she patted his arm,"I am just quite tired Percy. Who is this 'Jelly'?"

"I will introduce you to him m'dear. And you can rest when we get there." He tried no other attempt to speak to her so Marguerite vaguely took in the surroundings. A much deal of noise appeared to be coming from a large, old building, and she assumed that was the inn. Some part of her had enough sense to realize how hard it would be to rest under such rowdy circumstances. They stepped up to the inn, Marguerite leaning heavily on his strong arm, as a stout, jovial-looking man with a pipe in his mouth gaped at them from the door

"There's ol' Jelly, Madame." The man kept gaping at Marguerite. Sir Percy who amusingly smiled at the charmed man, "Well don't just stand there Jelly! Lady Blakeney is not a woman to keep waiting, what?"

"Forgive me. I am Mr. Jellyband." he bowed so low, Marguerite swore she saw his head touch the ground. "A room for Sir Percy and his wife?"

"_Two_ rooms Jelly. I am afraid that Lady Blakeney is demmed tired tonight, so if the people downstairs could keep it down..."

"Of course, of course! I would send them all home if you'd want it!" Marguerite was amazed at how well-respected Percy was, or was it just because she was there?

"Well, that would actually-"

"It isn't necessary sir. Perhaps, we could have our dinner first?"

"Of course, Lady Blakeney," he bowed again, very low, and then walked inside, Sir Percy following and having to bend a little to come through the short door-frame. The Fisherman's Rest had red floor tiles and bright flowers on the tables and windows to brighten the drab wood blackened with time. Almost every table was occupied by merry residents shouting for a woman named Sally.

"We would prefer to rent out a private room for our eating Jelly. Eating here would give both of us a nasty headache." Percy sniffed. Marguerite would have enjoyed the atmosphere in the coffee room though, and now they had to eat together, alone. Mr. Jellyband lead them to a quiet room past the kitchens. It had a long table fit for private rendezvous parties and a large fireplace fit for warming the room during the fall and winter.

"How nice Mr. Jellyband. Thank you for your help," Marguerite thanked, making him blush a shade redder than his sweaty features already were. After the door closed, Percy laughed loudly.

""What are you laughing at sir?" She was still a little hazy after Armand's departure.

"It seems you have bewitched poor Jelly!" Marguerite frowned and went to the table. Percy pulled out a chair for her and then walked to the other side to sit across from her. She stared at her hands clasped in her lap for a few minutes as Percy, well she didn't know what he did in those few awkward minutes-she refused to look at him.

"How was your hunting trip?" She finally ventured and raised her eyes to his.

"Oh that?" He yawned and covered his mouth, "Nothing worth telling. Why do you ask?"

"Armand seemed to have enjoyed himself, that's all. Though, he was also quite drowsy."

"Was he?" Percy smirked and tapped his eye-glass against his bottom lip.

"It's just... I didn't get to have much time with him Percy."

"You said I could take him with me m'dear, while you were in London."

"Yes, but you came back _late. _I got one day with him."_  
_

"I _am_ sorry about that. It was monstrous delay." She looked into his blue eyes. They seemed earnest in his apology but also quite lazy and sleepy.  
There was another pause before a pretty young woman came in with wine on a tray. "Ah Sally dear. Thank you."

She curtsied and blushed,"You're welcome Sir Percy." Marguerite turned and saw Percy pouring her some of the red liquid into a glass.

"Perhaps it will revive you." He handed it to her and poured his own.

"Perhaps." She took a sip of the tart drink and sighed. Marguerite didn't even know what to say to him anymore. Before they courted in Paris she remembered being attracted to him because he could talk and amuse her for hours in her salon. And when they walked or rode in a carriage, the peaceful silence was never awkward,even if it could last for half an hour. This man was a gentlemen-like stranger that had nothing in common with her, and found she had lost the two people who had loved her most in the world. Sally came in ten minutes later to find Percy dozing off in his seat and Lady Blakeney staring up at the ceiling. She smirked and then cleared her throat, getting the attention of both. She passed out their plates and placed the platter of roast and vegetables in between them. Marguerite's cheeks burned with embarrassment as soon as Sally left.

"I admit, I am as tired as you are Madame," he yawned obnoxiously and Marguerite wondered if he was faking or not.

"At least I don't drool," she commented.

Percy's eyes flew open in surprise, and searched his clothes for a stain. "Dem it m'dear, you frightened me!" Marguerite laughed at his concerned reaction.

As they dished up their food, Marguerite decided to ask him something. Hopefully he would have information on him, since he was quite popular with everyone in London. "Percy, have you heard of the Scarlet Pimpernel?" He froze for a second before adding more roast onto his late.

"The little flower?"

"Is that what it is? But no, I mean the man."

"Sink me, did someone really name their child 'Scarlet Pimpernel'?" He laughed, "Do his friends all call him"Pimpy" for short?"

"No," she sighed, trying to be patient. "It is a pseudonym."

He nodded like it made sense all of a sudden. "Where have you heard of the Scarlet Pimpernel?"

"From our milliner and my lady's maid, Louise."

"Louise?"

"Yes, you picked her off the side of the road a few days ago?"

"Oh, that one. I remember her now."

"Well, they told me of some Englishman who saved aristos from the guillotine under this name."

"I might have heard about it somewhere, but remember Madame, that I have not been to London in over a month." She had forgotten-they had been married more than a month before and she concluded that he had been in Paris during her stay with Armand. When was the last time he had seen his friends or acquaintances in England? "So you most likely know of this fellow more than I do." He kept his eyes on his plate and took a bite of his food.

"Well, he risks his life to save these innocents, like Louise and her son, from the guillotine!"

"Does he now? How many do they say?"

"Dozens! And he never fails. Isn't that spectacular?" She failed to push down her excited admiration for the mysterious fellow. It brought a laugh from her husband.

"It seems this Pimpernel fellow has bewitched my own wife! La! How amusing," he could not contain his inane smile. Marguerite blushed and took a bite. "What happens when he is caught by some agent of that inconvenient revolution o'er yonder?"

"Then France will have an army of ladies sailing across the Channel to break him out of prison," she laughed with him, almost succeeding in having a conversation without becoming irritated with him.

"Hmmm, well I suspect we will hear much more of this demmed Scarlet Pimpernel when we introduce you to society next week."

"Yes, I guess we will." She took a bite, trying to suppress the feeling of nervousness in her gut. The impression she made in a few days would affect her social life as long as she remained in England, which she assumed was until she died. She also tried to forget about the fact of having to live the rest of her days as a British lady with an indifferent husband in a cold, damp land. She wiped her mouth with her kerchief and stood, excusing herself. Percy stood and followed her to the door, opening and closing it for her.

"Your room is the first on the right on the second floor. Have a good rest." He said as he joined the commoners in the coffee room.

She nodded and followed his directions, thinking she would collapse on the bed and immediately fall to sleep. Instead, she listened for hours to the sound of clinking glasses, shouts for Sally, and the occasional inane laugh from her husband.


	16. Chapter 16

**Sorry it has been almost two weeks! Summer flies by fast! I hope to be done with this story in the next two chapters, so I will keep on thanking those who are reviewing until then, and don't be afraid to start! Enjoy Percy and Marguerite and Andrew and the few words of our fav. valet Frank! Actually, I don't think he says anything directly, but oh well...**

Andrew ducked his head when Percy walked in with Lady Blakeney. It was Andrew's first look at her in a long time, and he was reminded of her beautiful qualities. He would be more properly acquainted with the new Lady Blakeney at Percy's water-party in a few days, and he much looked forward to it, much more now than ever. Blakeney, for some reason, had requested him to come to The Fisherman's Rest without telling him why, but he assumed, almost hoped it was League business. He had dressed as a farm laborer, so Marguerite would not recognize him in his exquisite clothing, and it must have been a huge shock to even Jellyband himself, when Sir Percy Blakeney, Baronet, sat down across from him half an hour later, as if they were old friends.

"Gad," Percy drawled, "I am demmed fatigued." Though, he could not hold back an amused smile, before stretching.

"Maybe you should stop traveling so much." Andrew smirked, preferring it whenever Percy acted like a fop. It made things so much more fun. "Prison floors aren't much of an acceptable bed."

"I didn't see anyone else hoppin' to do it." Percy grinned.

"You wanted the amusement."

"I guess provoking the anger of an already dead man can be entertaining." Andrew laughed out loud and then smothered it with a hand, trying to produce less stares in their direction. "But the poor captain of the guard," Percy added, "We gave him a rotten few days, what? He must have woken up with a nasty headache..."

"You fought him?" Andrew hadn't heard much of Percy's last rescue of Comtesse Courtney's young son.

"Hit him on the side with my plate, actually," Percy said sheepishly, "He went out cold. Underestimated myself, I guess."

"Even the Scarlet Pimpernel underestimates himself sometimes, then?"

"Hush, Foullkes." Percy whispered, "I don't underestimate the spies of those Frenchies. They seek that Pimpernel everywhere, eh?" He leaned back and then grinned, "That sounded pretty good, didn't it?"

"What did?"

"They seek that Pimpernel everywhere."

"Sure, but Percy-"

"I'll have to work on it," he muttered.

"Blakeney!"

"Yes?" His friend looked up, unfazed.

"_What_ am I doing here?"

Percy laughed loudly and inanely, his head tossing back slightly. "You thought I forgot, didn't you?"

"More distracted than anything, actually."

"No, I just thought it would look odd if I met with a farmer, gave him a note, and then left immediately," Percy explained quietly, only for him to hear. He then got out a slip of paper conspicuously from his his cuff sleeve and slid it on the table, talking all the while about something Andrew might as well have blocked out; he focused on that note, making sure no one got to it or saw it before he concealed it within the folds of his clothes.

Andrew sighed in relief when the note was safe and nodded to Percy, who only responded with a twinkle in his eyes as he talked about the subject that he had accidentally blocked out.

"Drinks on me Foullkes." Percy then called, 'Sally m'dear. My friend here is parched! Some cognac!" Sally immediately responded with a smart curtsey and a pretty smile before turning to the kitchens.

"Thanks Blakeney."

"Nothing I wouldn't do for my wretched, poor laborer," Percy smirked. Andrew smiled and leaned back in his chair.

"Your wife is pretty."

"Gorgeous little thing, ain't she?" Percy smiled inanely. "I had the best pick of the litter, what?"

"Certainly." Sally came with the drinks and nodded to Percy, barely giving Andrew a side glance.

"I see where I stand!" Andrew laughed after Sally left. "Next to you? Nothing !" Percy laughed in his typical manner.

"Quite understandable though, I am demmed perfect!" Percy smiled from behind his cup.

"And rich!"

"Isn't that the best part?" Blakeney asked innocently, before laughing loudly. It nearly made Andrew choke on his drink.

"Zooks Blakeney! You'll keep your wife up with that racket!" It only made Percy chuckle more. The tall man stood, gulping down the last of his French brandy, and set down a few coins for the drinks. "I'll see you soon then Foullkes. Don't forget that, uh...," Percy yawned, "thing I gave you."

Andrew stood and bowed, like peasantry should before their betters. "Of course Sir Percy. You can count on me." Percy nodded and then walked long strides through the coffee room, only stopping to shake Jellyband's hand. The man's round, portly cheeks grew bright red as he bowed in response to Percy's retirement. Andrew finished off the rest of the cognac before leaving the inn. He strode quickly through the streets, which were mostly abandoned from the now drizzling rain, since everyone knew it would pick up soon. Andrew stopped in an alley, knowing he could not wait to read his instructions.

**Tell Dewhurst, Galveston, Mackenzie and Stowmarries to meet at the upcoming water party for instructions on the rescue of our next journey. I myself will be staying in England due to complications during this rescue. I am relying on you to lead this time. As always, use the highest discretion and secrecy in distributing this information. **

The bottom showed the drawn scarlet pimpernel flower. Andrew shivered from the rain and crumpled the paper in his fist after memorizing the message. He felt a little shaken at the future responsibility Percy was going to give him. Go on an adventure _without_ Percy? How would they manage?

...

Marguerite stepped into the room with half excitement, and half anxiety. She could hardly believe what Mewer's clothes looked like on her. She had never worn something so smart, elegant, fitting, or original in her life. It was a light blue-striped redingote dress with a low waistline. He large hat was laid in the perfect angle on her curly, unpowdered hair. Percy and Frank were the only ones in the room, discussing something quietly while he worked on his cravat. Her husband wore a sky-blue tailored jacket, vest and breeches with buckled shoes. She cleared her throat and got their attention. It was well worth it, for the reaction she received gave her hope. How could she explain the look on Percy's face when he turned to her? It was the way he would have looked at her before their marriage. Quickly, he masked the expression, like he were afraid to show her his feelings, and raised his eyeglass (as if he could not see her any clearer without it).

"Gadzooks, that Mewer is perfection!" He made a circle around her, inspecting the fabric and form it gave her. She turned her head around to see if she could catch that look from him again. But it was in vain, for his eyelids were just as droopy and his whole manner was indifferent as before.

"Benyon, my wife is demmed pretty, isn't she?" Percy asked proudly. Frank only nodded stiffly, and Marguerite tried hard to keep a smile from surfacing.

"When will the guests be arriving, Sir Percy?"

"Right now actually. The first guests just arrived," he answered haphazardly, while Marguerite struggled just to take a deep breath in her corset. This was the beginning, of her life here in England, in Blakeney Manor, as the wife of Sir Percy Blakeney. She could not mess up today. She had to create the right acquaintances, and she seriously hoped Percy would help her, since he had been doing this his whole life. She had been included in social functions before, but not with people of title. "Well," he yawned, "shall we?" He offered her his arm, and she took it hesitantly, wanting to hide her nervous trembling. Frank walked ahead of them a few yards, leading them to the grounds. They were both silent for a few hallways, and as if he sensed her emotions, he quietly said, "These demmed functions aren't too bad. It's just a crowd of snooty _aristos_ who can't find entertainment anywhere else."

"And I will be entertaining to them?" They neared the terrace door where Marguerite could see maybe a dozen well-dressed ladies and gentlemen lounging about the set up tables and chairs.

"Of course you will be!"Percy waved his eyeglass around, "_You_ are foreign."

_What was that supposed to mean?_ Marguerite didn't reply, and found she was not much comforted by his inadequate, vague attempt. Frank flung open the doors, and Marguerite slightly straightened her shoulders.


	17. Chapter 17

**I think this will be my longest chapter! It has a character from "The Life and Exploits of the Scarlet Pimpernel," which adds to Percy and Marguerite's character, and some guest appearances from chapter three, if you remember them. I am really actually excited about this one because of the social and adventurous parts. Review! You have one chapter left to do it after this one! Also, remember to read my other fanfic, Armand and His Angel, which is also almost finished! Enjoy!**

"So, this is Lady Blakeney," a pompous-looking woman twittered with her fan. She had a huge mole next to her lip, and Marguerite assumed if in less fortunate circumstances, with a rag-tag outfit and no wig, she could have passed as a typical Parisian hag. Grinning at the thought, she nodded at the question and sat down next to her.

"Yes, Lady...?"

"Oh, forgive me, I am Duchess of Lancaster, but just call me Agnes."

"And the Duke of Lancaster is where?"

"He is that man," she pointed to a small gentleman, a few inches shorter than his wife, currently waving his hands about as he talked to Percy. Percy saw her pointing at him and the Duke, and glanced at the two women for a moment, catching Marguerite's eye before inanely smiling at her. Marguerite turned her head away from the Duchess, so she could not see the confused blush. Instead, she watched the Marchioness of Lansdowne and her husband, a couple in their early thirties, who sat on a bench watching their three children play in the grass. Marguerite had been able to awkwardly hold the baby, Elizabeth, before quickly handing her back to her mother, and by then, the two boys had already escaped the eye of their parents and ran to the gardens. Their nanny had huffed and quickly set after them, bringing them back to the supervised area. Standing near and talking to them, was a bachelor, Thomas Stanley, the Earl of Derby. He was a typical dandy, but not so severe as her own husband. She had not been introduced to the rest so far, about twice the original size, and more were coming every minute. Thankfully, Percy was greeting each of them and they went their own respective places. She wished to meet each of her party guests, which she hoped, was not too big of a feat. She rose, knowing she could not converse much longer with the same person.

"Walk with me...Agnes," she remembered.

"Of course, let me introduce you to the Lady Stockbridge." She guided her to a group of half a dozen young and old ladies, exquisite in sun hats, parasols, and white gloves. Marguerite noticed her own dress was different from the style of all these ladies before her, and they narrowed their eyes at her approach. The most beautiful woman in that group was bedecked by enormous amounts of jewelry, and her strawberry-blonde hair remained unpowdered, unlike the rest of the bewigged group. Her brown eyes reminded Marguerite of a tired puppy. For an odd reason, she felt almost threatened by this woman as she neared.

"Lady Stockbridge, this is Lady Blakeney," Marguerite glanced at the old Duchess, who was slyly smiling.

The pretty young lady raised an amused eyebrow. "That's her?"

Marguerite frowned and replied, accentuating her French, "Yes, I am Lady Blakeney."

"A Frenchie too? Sir Percy always liked visiting there. Come," she drawled and reached out her hand. Marguerite warily took it, "let me talk to you privately." Lady Stockbridge guided her around the yard, introducing her to some of the guests when they passed by anyone important. She quickly steered Marguerite away from those of apparently of lower reputation.

"You knew Sir Percy?" Marguerite anxiously asked, avoiding looking at Lady Stockbridge. Her intuition told her this distrust had something to do with her husband.

"_Knew him?_" she laughed, "Lady Blakeney, I was his _intended_ for a few months." Marguerite swallowed and clenched her closed parasol, turning her knuckles white. She hoped Lady Stockbridge wouldn't see her reaction. She currently experienced something wholly alien to her, pure jealousy. Percy was _hers_, not anyone else's.

"Have you ever heard Percy mention a Mary de Courcy?"

"No, I've never heard the name," Marguerite was pleased to say.

"Oh, well that was my maiden name before I married. He was quite taken by me, and I think he actually _liked _ me," Mary shook her head in disbelief, and Marguerite could see where this was going.

"And you didn't? Like him, I mean?"

The girl sputtered, "Why do you think he stayed a bachelor for so long?" He is unbelievably blessed with looks and wealth, but there isn't much else in him, is there?" Marguerite remembered conversations in her apartment, and the feelings he had proclaimed for her. There was _much_ more to him than his outward inanities. Mary Stockbridge searched her face for a moment, before smirking. "Do you care for him Lady Blakeney?"

Marguerite refused to answer that question, of course she did care, even if it wasn't full blown-out, powerful love like she hoped it would turn out to be, but it was no one's business, especially not _this_ woman's. With a pang of remorse, she realized it was Percy's position, wealth, and looks that had thrilled her the most, much like the woman next to her. She remarked, "Why are we talking about this man so much? Have we run out of human beings?" Mary giggled obnoxiously, drawing the attention of those surrounding them. Marguerite sighed and looked up at Percy on the terrace steps, watching him bowing to a portly man in even finer clothes than himself They showed the extreme extravagance of high living. Her intuition told her it was the Prince Regent, and this time, she lead Mary where she wanted to go. Percy regarded her with a smile while looking at her through his eyeglass as she elegantly approached.

"Ahh, Lady Blakeney." He kissed her hand before even looking at he woman beside her. When he did, an expression of shock was quickly suppressed, so that Marguerite soon believed she had imagined it. His eyes were sleepy and dull, and he was ever the gentleman as he kissed Mary's hand, though, it seemed Percy released his former fiance faster than necessary. He was trying hard not to give a reaction of seeing his former intended, he had no reason for Marguerite to know about Mary, and Marguerite could tell; the less attention Lady Stockbridge received was all the better.

"Lady Blakeney," he drawled unaffectedly,"this is His Royal Highness, the Prince of Wales."

The Prince kissed her hand, "My pleasure," he remarked when he flicked his eyes to her gorgeous face.

"Your Highness," she said with her head slightly bowed.

"Ah, a Frenchwoman!" The man's eyes twinkled merrily. "Your people always amuse me."

"Yes, she just made me laugh with one of her sallies, your Highness," Mary added in. The Prince turned and looked at her, smiling at her attractive looks, before watching Marguerite again, who was, by far, more beautiful and stylish than Mary ever hoped to be.

"Shall we?" The Prince offered Marguerite his plump arm, and she blushed, knowing that she grasped onto centuries of breeding. Marguerite didn't even know her grandparent's names.

Unfortunately for Percy, he was left to do the same for Lady Stockbridge out of politeness. The Prince Regent stopped at the bottom of the terrace, where the whole of the guests bowed. Marguerite glanced to her immediate left where Percy and Mary had taken residence. He was stiff and almost more indifferent than she had ever seen him. She wanted to take his hand and squeeze it out of sympathy for putting him in this awkward position-having to even see Mary again was most likely unpreferable, much less escort her across the yard-but she knew that personally, he and their guests would disapprove. Had they been in France, she wouldn't have hesitated. Here in England, she almost felt a little insecure, even if she was sure Mary Stockbridge had been shoved aside by Percy long ago. The woman was clearly shallow, dull and full of prejudice to people who were different. Their acquaintance would _not _be renewed again.

Vaguely, she remembered asking Percy who to invite. Lord Stockbridge, he said, was a "bachelor of much wealth." Obviously, Percy had no idea of her marriage to the man, but Marguerite could see why it had taken place. Mary needed a replacement for her failure with the idiot fop, Sir Percy Blakeney, for even she had failed to woo him. It made her smirk at the humiliation that Mary must have received for the next few months, that _she_, Mary de Courcy, couldn't ensnare the attentions of the most shallow, unintelligent fool England had ever seen, but then, Percy must have gotten hurt too. To be only liked by women because he had money, position and title. She looked up at his broad, beautiful features, where his heavy-lidded eyes seemed to hide all suffering of the past, even ones freshly stinging...

As soon as he could, Percy excused himself with a yawn and strode over to some comfortable sofas, no doubt to take a nap, and Mary retreated almost as soon as Percy did, not even saying goodbye to her new"friend." Marguerite wwas left to entertain the Prince of Wales by herself.

"Ah, that Percy," he laughed and patted her hand.

"I fear it is my fault Your Highness," Marguerite forced a smile.

"It is?" He asked incredulously.

"Whenever I'm around, he yawns,'I am so demmed fatigued!" Marguerite did her best to imitate his drawl, yawn and partly closed lids. It was hard for her to hold back the slightest smile.

"La!" He sputtered out laughing, "We must have the same affect on that poor fellow. He says it all the time to me." He yawned and imitated it too. Marguerite laughed pensively. "_You_ do him more justice than I can, Lady Blakeney!"

"I _am_ married to him." The Prince laughed again and guided her to a cluster of men and women, young and old.

"These people amuse me," he said in her ear. "I think you will like them."

"Finally,"she muttered, but he heard it and chuckled.

"Lady Blakeney, I like you!"

* * *

Percy strode to his designated sofa and closed his eyes. He occasionally heard the light swishing of ladies gowns passing by him. He caught wind of the giggles and whisperings.

"That's where Sir Percy is," he heard a man say, "he must have so much on those lily-white hands of his with that French actress, that he needs all the sleep he can get!"

A woman responded, "I can't say I feel sorry for him. He's the one who got himself into marriage with a frog-eater, and an actress at that! I hear they are highly immoral. I say he should have married Lady Stockbridge. She would have been good for him..." the voices drifted off as the couple walked away, and Percy found he could frown again. At first, he wanted to chuckle, but as the conversation turned to Mary again, who apparently had made do Lord Stockbridge, all he could do was swallow down the sour taste in his mouth. Did they all have to remember that unfortunate episode between them? After all, hadn't it been some three years since he had broken their engagement off? The comment about his, "immoral frog-eater actress" made him want to jump up and put those snooty, pompous creatures in their places.

Soon though, he heard the whispers of his friends in the League, wondering whether they should wake him.

"He said to meet him at his party," Foullkes argued. Galveston murmured his agreement.

"We can meet him afterwards." Tony compromised, "League meetings in public? It unnerves me." Mackenzie and Stowmarries exclaimed their support.

"_He_ put me in charge this mission, not _you,_ Dewhurst!"

"Well aren't you so special Foullkes? But as you can see, our mission has not started yet, and we have yet to receive instructions from Percy, who _is_ our leader." Percy grew somewhat unnerved at their spectacle and hoped they weren't attracting attention from others.

"Exactly! Our leader is right in front of us, so why not wake him? He said to meet him _here_."

"Sink meh!" Percy said, with one eye open, "What are you rascals fightin' about?" They all twisted around with surprise and their angry expressions cracked into smiles. He sat up and rubbed his eyes groggily.

"Percy-" Andrew turned a little red.

"I heard it all," he waved his eyeglass, trying not to look bothered by the amount of tension between Tony and Andrew.

"Why didn't you tell us you were awake?"

" 'Cause it was demmed hilarious!" he laughed heartily, "I caught wind of quite a few scandals and some nice opinions of myself, including this useless, little skirmish between you five." He added sternly, "Dem it, if you don't pull yourselves together, I will get others to go instead. I will _not_ stand for hard feelings between my men." They all looked ashamedly at the ground and avoided his eyes.

Tony finally sighed and turned to his friend, holding out his hand in truce. Andrew smirked and shook it, and it seemed as if a weight had been lifted off the members of the members.

"Now that _that_ is all settled and forgotten," Percy shifted his eyes between his two best friends before looking at the other three, "Let us get down to business. I have your instructions in this note to Andrew." Percy's eyes were bright and intelligent, excited to be doing business with the League. "Follow them to the letter and guard it with your life. I do not want to run after you to France if you get caught." he grinned, "If possible, burn it after you get across the Channel. I just have individual instructions to Mackenzie." He turned to the young man, one of the youngest in the League. "You will be taking on an identity for a few weeks. I am in the works to save a few families in the countryside. I need you to move there as 'Jean-Pierre Calvet,' one of the most despicable patriots there ever was. Gain the trust of the jailer and until then, I will give you my instructions. You have already told me you are at my dispense for the next few months, and it might just take that long."

Mackenzie turned a little white, but Percy knew it was not from the length, but the fear of such a large responsibility. He gave Mackenzie a confident smile, "I know you'll do it all correctly. If you can't win his trust, then no one can, and that rescue will be impossible." He looked around for a moment, making sure no one had neared them during the last few points he made. "All the papers are in my study upstairs. Frank will open up the desk for you."

* * *

Marguerite looked up from her conversation, or rather, flirtation, with Sir James Kensmorth, an attractive young man with dark hair and gray eyes, and saw on the top of the steps, a woman with a boy and girl at her side. Their clothes were modest compared to some of the costumes at the party, and they looked a little lost, all by themselves. She searched for Percy, and finally found him leaning on a sofa surrounded by a group of bright-looking young men. They seemed to be having a good time, and she wished not to bother him at the moment.

"Sir James," she said flamboyantly, "come with me for a moment." His eyes flashed darkly and he nodded, following her to the terrace where the plain woman gazed at the crowds as if trying to look for someone.

"Excuse me?" Marguerite climbed the steps and concluded that the girl was around seven years of age and the boy was maybe two years older. The girl and the woman were elegant in their clothes, but the boy was awkward, as if he was not used to his breeches yet. "I am Lady Blakeney."

"You are French too?" The woman was shocked, and then shook her head, "I am Madame D'Augne, from Paris. This is my daughter, Annette, and my son," she faltered, "Pierre."

"How interesting! Your husband...?"

Madam D'Augne bit her lip and looked away. "Unfortunately, Madame la Guillotine got to him before the Scarlet Pimpernel."

Marguerite put her hand over her heart in surprise and sympathy, "My sincere apologies Madame. But could you, perhaps, entertain us with your story? So few are escaping, except for the ones this hero is snatching from the grasp of those madmen!"

"Yes," she nodded reluctantly and looked at her children, "I guess we could share the story."

"Thank you, Madame! Come with me to meet my husband, Sir Percy, first."


	18. Chapter 18

**This is** **it guys, it is the last chapter, and I am SO grateful for those who reviewed, especially Alpine Sheep an Marguerite. Check out "Armand and His Angel" which is ALMOST done as well! Check for a one-shot on the 14th, because we all know that is Bastille Day! If you still haven't reviewed, don't be afraid. I want to know what you thought about the end, which is pretty crappy. I got into this one A LOT, so give me feedback, since I deserve it so much, *wink wink***

Madam D'Augne nodded and smiled, following Lady Blakeney. The request to tell her story was unnerving, but in front of a fellow Frenchwoman, she felt safe and complacent. She talked in French to her Annette, who as more at ease in her native tongue. Pierre perked up, since he could understand all that was being said. He had never been taught English, and so far, he was the one in their family who struggled the most with emigrating.

Lady Blakeney and the man next to her lead them to a group of lively young men standing or sitting around a few couches. A glimpse of a laughing face made her gasp and stop in her tracks. A face she recognized, one of the men who had helped her settle in an apartment in London, and left her with a meager, weekly allowance. The apartment was small and rough, but the owners were kindly people, and _anything_ was a step up compared to their prison cell. Looks from the five gentleman standing were drawn to Lady Blakeney, and then to her. Their eyes all widened simultaneously, and they kept glancing to a man on the couch, still out of sight. Madame D'Augne had a suspicion of who it was. They were looking for directions from their _leader, _the Scarlet Pimpernel. _What had she just done?_

The man stood up, tall, with blonde hair, and dressed in a light blue, expensive outfit. She almost didn't recognize him, but after he had kissed Lady Blakeney's hand, he looked to her with piercing blue eyes, somewhat hidden by his drooping eyelids. She remembered him telling her that there was nothing to fear when she was with him, and his eyes were the main factor that made her trust him, so she need not be afraid now.

"Kensmorth," he nodded toward the gentleman, "And who is this?" His voice was drastically different, more drawn out, and a smile played on his mouth, but she could see he was nervous.

"Sir Percy, this is Madame D'Augne and her children from Paris. Madame, this is my husband, Sir Percy Blakeney." He bowed to her and kissed her hand, before nodding to Annette and Pierre. She could distinct the tiniest bit of trembling in his hand when he took hers, and he flashed his eyes to his wife in anxiety, masked a bit, but still there. He met her eyes and then looked to Lady Blakeney pointedly. Madame D'Augne was not talented in the gift of mind-reading, but she assumed he was _trying_ to tell or warn her of something.

"From Paris? It seems they are all emigrating from that demmed city. Couldn't stand the blood, eh?"

"I, ugh..." Why was she stuttering like an idiot? "Of course, it is unbearable there."

"Percy," Lady Blakeney turned to her husband, "she was saved by the Scarlet Pimpernel himself! Since you know nothing of him, Madame D'Augne is willing to tell of her rescue-"

"I think not," Percy drawled.

"And why not?" The Lady's face fell in disappointment, and turned to annoyance. Percy opened his mouth to speak, but was immediately interrupted by his wife.

"Forgive me Percy, but I understand now-_you _are_ tired_." she sneered, "I have just forgotten how weak you English gentlemen are."

"Sink me boys, my wife has grasped onto a gentleman's way of life quickly!" Percy laughed. Madame D'Augne shifted her feet, along with the rest of the bystanders. "It consists of hunting, a party or two, and then sleep!"

"What about your pursuit of fashion? Is that not part of your 'Gentleman's Lifestyle'?"

"Zooks! How have I forgotten? It must be my worn-out wits," he commented lazily, his eyeglass in hand, "which are dull already. I am sore company, so excuse me, as I retire now." He bowed and started to turn away.

"What about the guests?"

"M'dear," he looked back at her, "they are enchanted by you already. They will not mind if I am absent." As soon as he was out of earshot, Lady Blakeney huffed.

Madame D'Augne backed away, "I think I will leave now. I have intruded-"

"No, no Madame. Come, tell me what happened."

"I'm sorry, milady. I shouldn't have come."

"But-"

"I will escort her out Lady Blakeney," A smiling man stepped forward. Madame D'Augne remembered him. He had helped her escape out of the prison and to the Scarlet Pimpernel, dressed as a soldier, whom had been called, Foullkes. He had also helped house her and he was the one who came weekly with her allowance, or sent letters to her with his signature if he wasn't available.

I'm sorry," she whispered to him once they had neared the house.

"I thought I strictly told you to stay in conspicuous circles, not ones as grand as this," he gestured to the guests behind them. Pierre tugged on her hand.

"Are you going tell him of the man who came to us?" Pierre asked in French.

"What man? " Foullkes replied in the boy's native tongue.

"A man," Annette put in, "came to us with an invitation to come, and paid Maman to take note of the guests. He even gave me one too!" She pulled out a coin with a beam.

"Did he tell you his name?"Foullkes asked. There was clear concern evident in his features.

"No," Madame D'Augne answered. "He had brown hair. He was rich. Pudgy hands. A bit of an accent."

"Was he Austrian?"

"Do have an idea?"

"Perhaps. I must speak to the Scarlet Pimpernel and discuss this with him. For now, do not speak with this man unless the Scarlet Pimpernel corresponds and tells you to.

"I am almost certain he was Austrian," she confirmed. Her hands grew sweaty. "What do I do with the money?"

"Don't spend it yet," he ordered, "if the man wants it back for you not fulfilling his deal, you will be able to return it." She nodded, feeling quite dreadful for her base actions.

"I am terribly sorry, I did not mean to be such a nuisance to your leader."

"It is alright Madame. As long as you are faithful to the man who saved you and your daughter."

"Of course. Goodbye good sir."

"Goodbye, Madame. Pierre, Annette," he nodded to the children and walked into the mansion. She turned for a moment to watch Lady Blakeney, laughing and conversing with the men. How, or _why_, did Lady Blakeney not know? The Scarlet Pimpernel was Sir Percy Blakeney, her very own husband.

* * *

Marguerite knew she would suffer. Words said cannot be taken back, or ever forgotten when one insults a man such as her husband. His whole manner was evident of his hurt, his indifference, his true feelings cloaked by inane habits, which he had seemed to adopt permanently. Looking across from him over the table, she felt that this was her last chance. He would leave on another trip soon enough, as he claimed that had been part of his lifestyle. She would never feel as apprehensive about the way their relationship was heading towards. She watched him for a few moments, him playing with his gourmet food.

"Sir Percy?" She used his title, it just felt more formal, now that he called her "M'dear" and"Madame" all the time now. She could not recall the last time he had called her Marguerite, or even his treasured nickname for her, "Margot." A tiny part of her hoped he would say it now.

"Madame?" She was crushed, but she shook her head, because she couldn't get her feelings hurt over him calling her a certain name. She was stronger than that, did not need him to say anything, he just needed to listen now, God help him, and understand her situation.

"You are my husband."

"I am aware of that m'dear," he smiled with amusement.

"Let me finish-you are my husband, and I am your wife." He looked her in the eye, for one instant looking serious, but then good-humored again. "Married couples shouldn't have any secrets between them, but alas, I believe we do."

"I agree," he said pointedly.

"For instance, I had no clue about Mary-"

"I do not want to speak about _her _at the moment."

"And _I_ do not wish to speak about the Marquis de St. Cyr, but I must, if I am to be truthful with you." He was silent, inspecting his fingernails.

"I suppose you have heard the details of his death?"

"And that you were involved in the undertaking?"

"The Marquis was a horrible man, Percy," she defended herself.

"He was _my_ friend." He looked up at her, his voice cold, but his countenance stiff and he looked normal, asinine, a stupid, half-shy smile planted on his face.

"In fact, he had my brother, Armand...he was..." She could not choke out the rest. "He is prejudiced against people like me and my brother. There are consequences men like that face when they treat others as if they are not human. I can say, that I am not sorry that he is dead." Percy's eyebrow raised and his eyes took her in.

"He _was _prejudiced, you mean," Percy looked up at her through hooded eyes.

"Yes, but is that all you heard?" She didn't wait for him to answer, "He also was plotting with Austria. Did you know that?"

"Yes." He leaned back in his chair and stared down at his lap.

"Well, I can't say I am sorry for turning him in, but that would be lying. I didn't mean to turn him in though, or his family. They did not deserve to die. I was tricked-"

"Interesting story, m'dear, but one that I _have_ heard from _others_ before." He stood and left. Marguerite sighed, and twiddled her fork. Had it been really worth the breath to explain? He did not want to hear her story, since he had assumed already knowing what happened. Her emotions were high, she had gotten away with her feelings, and she had told him some things she wouldn't have normally said when trying to make a man love her again. Perhaps, Percy didn't love her, or if he did, it was snuffed out now. Someone rich and dull like him couldn't love anyone but himself, she knew that now. She suffered, now that she realized Percy-he was not who she believed him to be. Their marriage had been huge mistake, and she was stuck with this man, who was not a lover of any kind, who would not ravish her, hold her when she needed it. He would no longer kneel at her feet, as if she was royalty, and he, her slave. _That_ was the man she wanted now, but he was not there, he had _never_ been there, and never would be.

* * *

Percy sighed as he shut the door. There was no doubt in his heart now, his wife had just confessed to being a cold-hearted murderer, in a sense. She admitted to turning in the Marquis de St. Cyr. When she had said she was tricked, he couldn't sit there another moment. It was an excuse, almost a lie straight to his face. A woman as brilliantly clever and perfect as Marguerite St. Just could not be tricked into doing anything. He loved that woman, a dream, _Margot. _The woman telling him her deepest hatred for another and avenging her brother for some small disagreement between the St. Cyr family was a woman he no longer knew. Who had been transformed by the Revolution into a murderess, unable to love anyone,not even him, and he didn't want her to. He was horrified by Lady Blakeney; he could not love her, not when she was like_ that_. He quickly strode to his study, and opened the door, satisfied to see a middle-aged woman sitting in the chair across from his desk.

"Sir Percy," she stood and bowed. Percy only nodded and went to his desk, sitting in his comfy chair.

"There was a woman who attended my party today, a former French victim of the guillotine. She was paid by an Austrian in her London home to find the Scarlet Pimpernel's identity."

"Did she find out?" The woman leaned forward expectantly.

"Indeed she did, but she realized how foolish it would be to tell."

"Good." She contemplated, "Does your wife-"

"No, she does not suspect. She just found out about this 'hero" he smiled lazily, "a few days ago. She can hardly be on my tail yet."

"In the few days I observed her, before you dismissed me and had me work for you privately, I could tell she had a bright mind. She is _very_ perceptive. She _will_ eventually put two and two together."

"I know, but for now, we should avoid any possibility of her finding out through the people the League rescues. I have learned my mistake. I will not ever disguise myself to the point where anyone can recognize me again. It seems I cannot avoid the grime, the wigs and fake noses," he laughed. Those, however dirty, seemed to be the best fun he had.

"What will I do about this woman?"

"It is not about the woman, but the man who hired her. I have suspicions of who it is. A man, from Austria, the Baron de Batz, has been trying to save the royal family, and is furious that I have not responded to his requests for help, he even called me a coward once."

"How?"

"Through a letter. He gave it to my men when in Paris a few weeks ago."

"What do you want me to do?"

"If you could." he smiled, "See if he is London at the moment. That is all, and tell Madame D'Augne, that the Scarlet Pimpernel says it is alright to spend her money."

"Of course, milord." She stood up to go.

"And Dorothea," she stopped, "remain inconspicuous and careful, I have known you all my life, I don't want anything to happen to you."

"I'm in England. I don't see what danger could ensue me here." Dorothea left the study, leaving Percy by himself. He looked out to the gardens from his window, seeing his wife striding the pathways by herself. Just hours before, she would have been accompanied by gentlemen of all age, swooning over her good looks. Only he knew the extent of her character, they would be as horrified as he was. Perhaps it would have been better to have married Mary de Courcy. She wouldn't have liked him ever, but at least she had not caused a family's death. He rewarded _this_ woman, his broken shrine, with an abundant amount of tribute and worship, which she hardly deserved to recieve, as she had fallen from heaven, and down, to the Earth.

**The End**


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